Westeros High, TV series
by Perelynn
Summary: ASOIAF as a high school. As a high school movie anyway.  Pairings: Sandor/Sansa, Jaime/Brienne.  This story has two authors and one translator. Authors: Redcandle17 and Akara. Translation: Perelynn.
1. Let's be friends

_Note from translator: Long, long time ago, when I didn't even know SanSan was a pairing, **redcandle17** wrote a fanfic. Well, some parts of a fanfic, anyway. It was adorably AU and had the highest score of alive Martin characters ever._

_Some time later, but still a long while back, I translated those snippets and posted them on Russian fansite._

_Quite recently, a young author named Akara was seized by inspiration and wrote more about Westeros High, filling in the gaps and going above and beyond. In Russian._

_And finally I had an irresistible urge to translate it back to share with you the wonderful story that we have as a result._

_A/N (**redcandle17**): The ASoIaF cast is way too huge so I've had to ignore a lot of characters and focus on my favorites. This fic is going to focus on Sansa's story and Jaime's story. Because the most fun ships are cross-gen(a 15yr age difference for Sansa/Sandor and a 13yr difference for Jaime/Brienne from my count), everyone's approximately the same age here. It is crack!fic, after all.._

_A/N (**Akara**): As some details in the fic differ slightly from how I see the layouts, I changed or removed them (don't worry, there are very few of those!). I marked them and provided a reason for the change. Some details seemed not detailed enough to me, so I added some flavour. There is also an episode with Stannis that was moved chronologically to create a new twist. Otherwise, I tried to stick to the initial text as close as possible._

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><p>Vice Principal Stannis Baratheon surveyed the cafeteria of Westeros High School. It was crowded and noisy and the aroma of cheap pizza mixed most unpleasantly with the suffocating scents worn by the student body. It was a normal day – even a good one by the standards currently employed, unfortunately.<p>

At the last parent meeting* Stannis had proposed instituting school uniforms, banning cell phones and Ipods, and segregating lunch periods by sex. All of his proposals had been rejected, and it rankled him that Ned Stark had been the only one to support him besides. This school was a cesspool, but Stannis never considered leaving. In fact, he hoped to be principal some day. When he was principal, things would change.

Definitely starting with a school uniform, he thought, as he watched Cersei Lannister uncomfortably. Cersei was the captain of the cheerleading squad and she looked the part. She wore her cheerleading uniform today, and surely it was not his imagination that the skirt appeared much shorter than it had been last year and the sweater tighter and lower cut. Perhaps Cersei was trying to regain the attention of those admirers who'd flocked to Margaery Tyrell.

Margaery and her brother Loras were new to Westeros High School, having moved to the town over the summer. Though Margaery was only a sophomore and Loras a junior, the pair had usurped the popularity of Cersei and her brother Jaime. People who watched Loras play pick-up games of football before school or during free periods said he was as good a quarterback if not better than Jaime Lannister.

Not that Jaime would be playing football again; not with that knee injury. Tywin Lannister had taken his son to the best doctors in the country (costing him valuable school time, but Stannis had been overruled when he proposed putting Jaime back a year to make up the work) and none had been able to do what Tywin wanted.

Jaime sat by himself at the end of a table, staring at his sister's table. He was glowering as she laughed and flirted with the group of boys surrounding her. Stannis had always thought there was something not quite right with those two. Despite his good looks and popularity, Jaime never dated. His twin sister Cersei was the only girl Stannis had ever seen him with. The students whispered that he was gay, but Renly (Stannis gritted his teeth at the thought of his much younger brother) insisted he wasn't and Renly would know.

Renly was surrounded by his own group of admirers, boys and girls both. Whereas the Lannisters drew the All American football and cheerleading types, Renly's circle was comprised of the art and theatre people, the weirdos constantly painting all the walls whether or not they had permission. Some of the boys had hair as long as a girl's and some of the girls dressed like boys, like that Brienne Tarth, who was as big as a football player to begin with. That group offended Stannis's sensibilities, but they were mostly harmless.

The real trouble was Gregor Clegane, the school's star linebacker. His gang of hooligans was responsible for assaulting students for their money and their latest electronic toys (though Gregor was not poor and his father worked for Lannister Corp; he just seemed to enjoy taking things by force) or simply for "dissing" them by looking at them wrong. Davos also told Stannis that many girls warned others not to go out with Gregor, that he never took 'no' as an answer and even those who said 'yes' usually regretted it.

But there was never any proof; no one wanted to file any complaints against Gregor. Those who were not held back by fear of Gregor himself did not want to be blamed for the Westeros Knights losing a game if he was kicked off the team. He was another one Stannis wanted to keep back a year. But although Gregor was barely passing his classes, he already had offers from several colleges and Tywin Lannister had asked the principal to write him a letter of recommendation to Lannister's alma mater.

* * *

><p>Sansa Stark's life was over. Joffrey had broken up with her. She'd never have another boyfriend or get to go the prom in a few years or anything. She would have stayed home and listened to Evanescence all day if she could, but her mother wouldn't let her.<p>

She lingered in the bathroom. Her hair and makeup were perfect, and her sunglasses hid eyes red from crying. The smell of the bathroom, urine and cigarettes and something Sansa thought might have been marijuana, made her feel sick, but she couldn't bear the thought of going to class and having everyone look at her and know she'd been dumped for Margaery.

It would have been nice to go outside and sit beneath one of the willow trees and text message her Livejournal with an update on her ruined life. But someone would see her and make her go to class. So instead Sansa slipped into the dark, empty auditorium. It was a good place to cry her heart out. She rummaged through her shoulder bag (backpacks were just so unstylish) and plucked out a packet of tissues in anticipation.

She'd only just gotten started when a raspy voice said, "If you're going to sit there, stop your sobbing."

Sansa gave a squeak of fright. She recognized the voice as that of Sandor Clegane, Joffrey's friend. She'd have been embarrassed if anyone else had caught her, but Sandor was weird, though his rough manners could be explained by his looks. He frightened her, and not only by his burned face. She'd always been nice to him for Joff's sake though. And now she was even grateful that the auditorium was so dark: she wouldn't have to look at those hideous scars. Sansa always averted her eyes; she felt guilty about it, but couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you," she said, though she had just as much right as he did to lurk in an empty auditorium.

Sandor moved to sit beside her and though she couldn't see him very well, Sansa was conscious of how big he was. It would have been polite for him to leave an empty seat between them. Sansa considered moving but he might take it as an insult.

There was silence for a long time. Sansa had only intended to wait as long as was polite before leaving (so he wouldn't think she was running away from him even though she was) but it was almost nice just sitting here in the dark.

It reminded her of Joffrey's Halloween party last year. That had been the most marvelous night of Sansa's life. She'd dressed up as a mermaid (when she reached Joff's house, she had taken off the beige t-shirt her mother had made her wear under the pretty bra meant to imitate Ariel's sea shell top) and everyone said she looked great. It had been difficult to walk in the tight long skirt forming the tail though; she'd nearly fallen onto the buffet table once, but Sandor had caught her.

Sansa thought it was weird that a high school kid would come to a middle school party, but Joffrey told her that his mother had asked Sandor to look after him when he was younger. It was very nice that they'd become friends.**

She'd stayed late (her father had allowed it because Joff's dad was his friend; Sansa didn't tell him that Mr. Baratheon stayed upstairs with the pretty young housekeeper any time Joff had friends over), even after everyone else had left. She'd been uneasily playing with an unopened beer can while Joffrey and Sandor drank when Ms. Lannister Baratheon came home. Joff's parents had started shouting at each other and Joff had told his chauffeur to take Sansa home. Sandor had needed a ride too, but he'd only stared at Sansa (even though she'd put on a coat over her costume because it'd gotten chilly) and not talked to her during the drive. She was surprised when he spoke to her now.

"You're prettier than Margaery," he blurted.

"Really?" Maybe he was just saying so to be nice.

"Yeah."

"Thank you." Sansa smiled though she knew he couldn't see her.

"I've got to go," he said abruptly. "I've got gym next period."

When lunchtime came, Sansa left the safety of the auditorium. Her grief wasn't quite enough to forestall thirst and hunger. Walking into the cafeteria was the hardest thing she ever did, trying to ignore the people watching her and whispering things about her to each other. She couldn't very well sit at her usual table now that she and Joff had broken up so she sat alone, half way down the long table from a group of people she didn't know. She hoped some of her friends would join her, but they all stayed at Joffrey's table. They were his friends, not hers. She'd never felt like such a loser before. Her only consolation was that Margaery didn't have their lunch period so Sansa didn't have to see Joff with her.

If she begged hard enough, maybe her parents would let her transfer to another school. She was about to leave and spend the period in the bathroom when Sandor sat across from her.

"You're not with Joffrey." She shot him a short glance, and then averted her eyes, as always.

"I must have sat at the wrong table," he said.

Sansa smiled brightly at him and even looked him in the eyes. Surely this meant he was her friend now. The cafeteria food was okay, but their cookies were too sweet. Sansa always brought her dessert from home. Her family's cook had made lemon pies last night and they were her favorite. She'd brought two slices to school today. She set the container in the middle of the table. "Would you like one?"

* * *

><p>Next day going to school was less scary. Sansa paid a short visit to the bathroom to check her hair and face. She deliberately did it after the bell rang; she didn't like other girls oggling at her while whe was making herself pretty.<p>

The noise of water running out of the tap covered the sound of sobs. Or were that the sobs that covered the noise of water?

Bent over the sink, there stood one of the senior students, trying unsuccessfully to wash tears away from her face. Short dishevelled blond hair, untidy and utterly tastless blue T-shirt, battered wide-cut jeans. The girl's broad shoulders were shaking as she cried.

Sansa didn't know this girl, and didn't fancy to make an acquaintance. The older girl looked like an outsider and probably horrible sloven.

But Sansa cried in the bathroom herself, just yesterday.

She hesitated. Maybe she should offer the older girl some paper tissues or powder to put on her puffy face? She could also tell her about that dark auditorium, too. But, after giving these thoughts some consiration, Sansa decided against it. It's not nice to invade someone's personal space like that. If somebody approached Sansa yesterday, she would scarcely be grateful for it. So the girl just slipped out of bathroom quietly and went to her class.

Vice Principal Stannis had a habit of standing on the balcony overlooking the school cafeteria during lunchtime, and watching the students. When someone asked him about this habit the Vice Principal answered this was his way of getting closer to childen and understand them. The truth was Stannis Baratheon believed that watching the students in the place and time of their getting together helped predict what troubles could be expected in future and who would be the troublemaker. Today, however, the Vice Principal was not to enjoy his favorite pastime for long.

"There's a problem in the second floor corridor, east wing," Davos Seaworth said quietly, coming from behind. Davos was an ex-con and an unlikely hire, but Stannis found him competent and trustworthy. He served as the swimming coach and an all round aide.

"What now?" Stannis asked.

"Clegane."

Stannis frowned. He'd been keeping an eye on Gregor since the beginning of the lunch break***, and the boy hadn't left the cafeteria once.

"The other one," Davos amended. "Sandor. Him and Joffrey. Joffrey accused some poor boy of bumping into him and making his books fall. He demanded the boy pick them up and apologize to him. The boy refused and now he has a black eye."

Stannis grimaced. Joffrey was his nephew, or so his brother's Lannister wife claimed. "Did the boy say who'd done it?"

"Clegane."

"Send him to my office." He would give Sandor two days' suspension and a week's worth of detention. However it would likely be as productive as talking to Robert and his wife about their son. Sandor had no friends; not even his brother seemed to want him around. His isolation was his own fault since he was talented at sports and could have been popular despite his facial scars if not for his sneering remarks about jocks and preps and his cynical comments when called on in class. Only Joffrey seemed to like him, and Sandor was grateful for it, following the freshman around like a dog.

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><p>Sansa was making for the cafeteria, feeling much more cheerful than yesterday. Of course, she still didn't like the perspective of meeting Joffrey and his gang much, but she kept herself distracted by wondering if she would be eating alone today and was hoping she wouldn't.<p>

The was a bunch of students clustered together talking vigorously about some fight. Somebody hit someone, caught a hit back, then the fight was stopped and the students were taken to the Vice Principal's office. Nothing new. Something like this happened almost daily in Westeros High. Sansa didn't even deign to listen, just went straight past, her heels clacking.

Joffrey, who was standing in the queue to the hot counter, was feeling belicouse today. He was saying something to the people around him, in such a proud and audacious manner as if he were a politician going through the election campaign.

'He'll make a wounderful mayor, much better, than his father,' Sansa thought in adoration. And scorned herself immediately: they are not a couple anymore, so it doesn't matter to her! It's Margaery's job to adore him now. Or do whatever else to him. Sansa doesn't care. About him and about them.

'That bespectacled loser will pay for his insolence!' Joffrey roared loudly half of the caf turned to look at him. And added haughtily: 'This will teach the likes of him not to mess with me!'

Sansa moved her tray towards Jeyne Pool's one and asked softly:

'What happened?'

'One boy pushed Joff and didn't want to apologize. Sandor Clegane hit him,' Jeyne whispered back.

'Just like that, out of the blue? Came and pushed him?' Sansa was surprised. Students, even seniors, usually didn't mess with Joffrey, because Sandor was always somewhere nearby, and nobody wanted to mess with him. The younger Clegane was even nicknamed 'Joffrey's dog'. He was aware of that and didn't seem to mind.

'Well... y-yes.' Jeyne stuttered.

Sansa didn't want to talk to her much, especially now that her suspicions about Jeyne moving to her ex-boyfriend side seemed to be confirmed, but she needed to know the truth.

'Jeyne!' she said sternly, taking the girl's elbow and giving her a grave look.  
>Poole hesitated, batting her eyelashes, and then buried her nose into Sansa's hair and whispered to her ear:<p>

'It was Joff who started it. He said it would be fun, took as many books as he could and… well... pushed the boy. And then he announced the boy should apologize. He didn't, and Joff ordered Sandor to hit him. Only don't tell anyone I told you!'

'I won't, I promise,' Sansa said. Jeyne nodded, grabbed her tray and hurried towards the Joff's table, where all his gang was already seated.

* * *

><p>Sandor Clegane was striding along the corridors angrily. The students parted, giving him way, and whispered behind his back, sharing the details about the fight in the eastern wing and adding their own opinion on the matter. Not at all flattering, of course.<p>

Sansa caught up with him when he was on the lawn, making towards the gates.

'Sandor!'

'What do you want?' he demanded, turning towards her briskly. The girl didn't have the time to avert her eyes. They gazes locked: hers was full of worry, and his of hate.

'I... I...' Sansa was so flustered she coudn't manage a coherent sentence. 'I wanted to... What did Stannis decide?'

'Suspended me for two days and gave a week-long detention,' Sandor's voice was cold, but his eyes softened. 'Is this all?'

All Sansa wanted was to say 'Yes!' and leave screaming. But they are friends now, aren't they? Friends should help each other. Or at least give comfort to one another in tough situations.

'Don't worry, two days is nothing.' She wanted to say something encouraging, but couldn't think of anything. It wouldn't do to avert her eyes now though. Sansa knew it and tried to look Sandor in the face. But the sight of the horrible burns on the left side, a twisted mass of scar, slick black flesh, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleamed red and wet, a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away, made her sick.

'Ha! I'd happily be suspended for a week and on detention for two days!' Sandor laughed hoarsely. The laugh made the burned side of his face even scarier. As if he knew that Sansa was barely holding herself from running away and was making fun of her!

'Why did you do it? Why did you listen to Joffrey?' she blurted, angry with him.

'Why not?'

'Because you have you own head and you ought to use it!' Sansa's mom often used this phrase when she didn't like her daughter trying to imitate her friends in a manner the mother found inappropriate for an ideal young lady. 'Why are you doing everything Joffrey tells you to do, even if it's something nasty?'

'Because he is the only one who wants to be friends with me!' Sandor bellowed, then turned and walked away as quickly as he could.

* * *

><p>At home Bran and Arya were busy figuring out who has better aim when throwing half-rotted plums stolen away from the kitchen. When Sansa entered the living room one fruit landed right on her silken blouse, and her indignant shouts - on her siblings' heads.<p>

Sansa let Lady into her room and slammed the door loudly. While the girl was taking a shower and washing the blouse, her anger has quieted, but she didn't want to leave her room until dinner.

Sansa jumped onto her wide bed covered with the satin coverlet, pink with huge white peonies. Lady laid majestically next to her. Sansa buried her left hand into the thick dog fur, and dragged her laptop closer with the right.

There was no new messages on Facebook, no new entries on the wall, no new comments to the pics. Looks like after Joffrey ditched her everyone considered her dead. Sansa felt a sudden desire to go to his page, or to Margaery's, to see what has changed there, but she forbade herself to do it. Both of them were still listed as her friends: to remove them meant to admit her own weakness. They didn't remove her, either. Maybe they just forgot all about her.

Lady pushed her cold wet nose against her cheek, licking down the single tear that fell from Sansa's eyes. The girl took a deep breath and tried to master herself.

And then she remembered Sandor and entered his name in the search field. His page was not informative at all, Sansa didn't like pages like that. Only his school was showing; there was no word on his interest or hobbies; friendlist was hidden; no personal info, no pics. Even his avatar was a dog's head with bared teeth.

But he was online. Sansa found the 'Add to friends' button and pressed it firmly. In a couple of minutes she got the confirmation.

She wanted to give him comfort, to support him somehow, but she didn't know how, especially after their last talk. So she simply wrote:

'Hi.'

'Hi,' he replied.

After ten minutes of silence Sansa realized the talk is not going anywhere, and took the matter into her hands.

'What are you up to?' she wrote, and added a couple of smiley faces.

'Watching a video,' he answered.

'Which one?' Sansa was genuinely happy they found some topic to discuss.

In a minute Sandor sent her a video file attached to a message 'You won't find things like this on youtube!'

The credits showed a red title that looked as if the inscription was made in blood:

'Cannibal Corpse'.

Then came a terrible growl, an anguished sound of the electric guitar and a metallic rumble of drums. Some dirty-looking men were tossing their hair, following the music. Then there was another man, even dirtier and hairier, with earth in his mouth. He digged out a corpse in the cemetary and was now dismembering it, helping himself with a saw or sometimes tearing it with his bare hands. Then he shove some tubes into the body and pumped the fluids out of it. Then the body came to life and started to devour him...

Lady growled discontentedly, looking at the monitor. Sansa came out of her stupor and turned the video off almost at the end.

Sandor is just nervous, she told herself. What is a person expected to watch when they are mad?

Sansa massaged her temples, as if hoping it will make the memories fade quicker. Then looked through the list of her own favorite videos and found "Schnuffel - Ich hab' Dich lieb". It was an adorable thing: a fluffy little grey rabbit with the cutest big eyes ever singing in the forest and playing with a soft pink heartie. She sent the video to Clegane and waited.

Three minutes passed. Sandor should have already finished watching.

Ten more minutes passed and there was no answer.

'How did you like it?' she wrote.

'Meh,' he replied.

'Is this all he can say?' Sansa asked Lady indignantly. The dog growled indistinctly. Sansa turned on her back, eyeing a crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

How can you help a friend, if the friend doesn't want to talk?

Then it dawned on her. She nearly jumped. Of course! Sandor said Joffrey was the only one who wanted to be friends with him! She needs to prove this is not true!

She turned and moved the laptop closer.

'Sandor?'

'What?'

'Would you like to be friends with me?' She added a smiley face, just one.

'We're friends already. I've added you.'

'I'm not talking about Facebook. I want to be real friends. In real life.'

Sandor was silent for a couple of minutes which Sansa thought were eternity. And then he replied:

'Me too'

And, for the first time, he added a smiley face. Like this: :)

* * *

><p>* Initially it was 'at the last school board meeting'. I need Ned Stark to hold a different position than a teacher, so he couldn't be present at the school board where only school personnel is allowed. I replaced it with the parent meeting.<br>** Initially it was continued by 'Sansa's babysitter Theon Greyjoy had always ignored her, preferring instead to search through her parents' room and talk on the phone with girls.' I cannot imagine Theon being Sansa's babysitter, as well as any teenage boy babysitting a girl barely younger than himself. I wouldn't be able to pursue this topic, so I decided to take it away.  
>***Initially it was 'He'd been keeping an eye on Gregor all lunch period'. According to this logic, the lunch break is almost over. In my tale, it's just started.<p> 


	2. The party

_Authors: **Redcandle17** and **Akara**. Translated back and forth by: **Perelynn**._

* * *

><p>Two weeks later...<p>

She wished Sandor would stop sending her videos of people being beheaded. It was really quite dreadful. She first tried to watch them, beginning to end, hoping to understand her new friend better, or at least understand why he is sending them to her. But presently she just started them, clicked through the middle and, seeing their sadistic style hadn't changed, turned them off. Talking to Sandor, in school or online, didn't get any more interesting either. She tried to find things that would interest them both, but his replies was always short and often rude. And he never sent back any of those lovely caring chain messages she thoughtfully forwarded to him. However, he did start to hang around her almost as much as he did around Joffrey. She found his attention warming, it was good not to feel forgotten and lonely. But he still scared her, albeit less than before.

Some of Sansa's old friends were talking to her again, including her best friend Jeyne Poole whose mother was the Starks' housekeeper. But most of them were friends with Margaery too and Sansa didn't trust them fully. She was certain that every word she posted on her MySpace or Facebook page reached Margaery and Joffrey, so she only wrote about how great things were there. She saved her doubts and sadness for her Livejournal, which none of her real life friends knew about.

She was busy taking a "Which Disney Princess are you?" quiz when her cell phone began to play her favorite song "My Heart Will Go On." It was a good thing she glanced at the screen before answering it. It was an unknown number.

"Hello," she said cautiously.

"Hi! Is this Sansa?"

"Yes, it is. Who's this?"

"It's me, Margaery. I hope I didn't disturb you! I know we haven't talked much but I'm having a party this weekend and you have to be there."

Sansa didn't know what to say. Why would Margaery invite her to her party? Was it just so they could make fun of her? Or did Margaery really want to be friends? "Hello? Hello?" Sansa said, pretending her phone had lost the call. "Margaery? Are you still there? Hello?"

She ended the call and immediately selected Sandor's number from her contacts list. The phone rang three times before he answered, which made Sansa fear he was avoiding her.

"I was in the shower. What do you want?"

That might have sounded rude coming from anyone else, but Sandor was always that way and Sansa was certain he liked her anyway. "Margaery called me. She wants me to go to her party this weekend."

"So, you going?"

"No! Have you seen that old movie Carrie? What if it's like that?"

"If you're not going, what's the problem?"

"Everyone will be there. I can't be the only one not there; I might as well sign up to be a loser for the rest of my life."

"So you are going?"

"I don't know," Sansa wailed. "Help me."

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

She hadn't thought about that. What could he do? It wouldn't be so bad to go to Margaery's party if someone else was there that she knew was on her side. "You could come with me."

"I wasn't invited."

"Don't be silly. The Knights have a standing invitation to every party."

"Oh, right. The stupid jocks can go anywhere and do anything they want. How could I have forgotten?"

It was rather strange the way Sandor talked about the football players as if he wasn't one of them. But he hadn't spoken to her for the rest of the day the one time she pointed it out, so Sansa didn't comment on it now.

"So will you go? Please. Pretty please. I'll owe you a favor. I'll do anything."

"Fine, fine. I'll see you in school tomorrow." He ended the conversation without another word.

Sansa had to have a new outfit to wear to the party and she told Sandor so the following day at lunch. He was flipping through a magazine with pictures of cars (and women dressed in too little perched on the cars) and Sansa suspected he wasn't listening to her. She gently nudged him with the toe of her high-heeled boot under the table.

He finally looked up. "What?"

"I need new clothes. Want to come to the mall with me this afternoon?"

"I have practice."

Oh, right. "We can go tonight then, but early. You can pick me up."

"I don't have a car."

"Won't your brother lend you his?"

Sandor laughed. "Stick-up-his-ass Baratheon will come to school in a dress before that happens."

That was such a pity, Sansa thought, eying Sandor's faded t-shirt. She'd hoped to convince him to buy some new clothes for himself.

* * *

><p>Sansa was turning back and forth, admiring herself in the mirror. Lady sat on her haunches next to the girl, giving her approving looks. The dog's head bowed to one side, then to another, as if trying to admire her mistress from different angles.<p>

The dress fell almost to her knees, moderately modest and at the same time moderately cute. It made her waist look narrower, her hips wider and her breasts fuller. Multilayered chiffon, grey with a shade of pink, was flowing around her body with each movement. 'The ashes of rose' was the name of the color in one of her Mom's most favorite books, 'The Thorn Birds'. The main character there, Meghann Cleary, had red hair, just like Sansa, and she wore a dress made of the similar fabric to her very first ball. didn't allow her daughter to read this book because of the love scenes written in a way too outright manner for the children of Sansa's age. But the girl downloaded the banned book from the Internet secretly. Mom didn't know about it; the moment Sansa came home carrying a shopping bag she made a stern face, intending to scold the daughter for another costly and unnecessary purchase. But when Sansa showed her the content of the bag, Mrs. Stark softened, thinking she picked the dress intuitively.

'The ashes of rose... this color really makes the auburn of your hair stand out,' Mom sighed dreamily, caressing her daughter's soft curls and admiring the dress Sansa put on. 'You are all grown up now. And it seems only yesterday that you were a baby at my breast and I sang you lullabies...'.

Now Sansa was ready for the party. Light, natural-looking makeup, grey shoes and a little grey purse. The girl shot one last glance at the mirror and decided herself irresistible.

In the lobby Arya was running right towards her, playing tags with Nymeria. The older sister pressed herself against the wall, giving the younger one space to run past. Arya did, but then stopped and gave Sansa a measuring look.

'What's up?'

'Don't touch!' Sansa screeched and waved her hands at her sister vigorously. Arya is a known sloven, and has a real knack of ruining Sansa's best outfits! But not today!

'Why shouldn't I touch?' said the younger sister indignantly, reaching out for the dress just in spite.

Sansa shrieked and dashed. Lady came out of her chamber, curious at the noise, and sat down next to Nymeria, watching the people argue.

'Don't touch me, you nasty girl!' Sansa was shoting.

'You're the nasty one!' Arya retorted, drawing near. 'And a selfish swank, too!'

'It's not true! I'm not like that!' Sansa screamed 'You're saying this because you envy me! If I had your looks I'd be mean, too!'

'Aaargh,' Arya wailed, furious. 'You bimbo! You just wait...'

Sansa didn't stay to hear her sister's threats or see her make them true. She turned and ran between the dogs towards the safety of her room. Lady slipped after her mistress. Sansa slammed the door shut and turned the key.

'I'll pull out all your red mane! I'll tear your dress to pieces!' Arya raged from the other side of the door, slamming her fists against it energetically.

'Horseface!' Sansa shouted, making sure it was loud enough for her sister to hear.

The door shook (apparently Arya shouldered it) but stayed shut. There was a new stream of insults.

'Arya!' came the voice of from the stairs. 'Stop this instance! She's your sister!'

'That's the honour I'd happy do without!' the younger sister shouted angrily, and Sansa had to admit her agreement with this statement.

'Jory!' called, seeing that it was time for the desperate measures.

The head of security guards, who was apparently somewhere nearby, came at once. He grabbed Arya, fighting and kicking and sratching, and took her to her room. Mrs. Pool made Nymeria follow; the dog growled, but obeyed the order nevertheless. Jory had trouble leaving the room though: he almost squeezed through the lean gap between the doorframe and the door the housekeeper was holding for him, but then Arya got hold of his leg, trying to get to freedom at all costs. Through the keyhole, Sansa watched the big man struggling with her little sister. In the end, the strength overcame the stubbornness. shut the door and locked it, promising Arya her parents will find out about that when they come back from work.

* * *

><p>When Hullen drove Sansa to the steps of Margaery's house, Sandor was already waiting, pacing at the gates. The girl told the driver he was free for the evening, as she would be taking a taxi after the party, and Hullen drove away happily, heading home.<p>

Sansa noticed Clegane was definitely wearing one of his best T-shirts and a pair of clean jeans. She tried to pay him a compliment, but the row with Arya made her tetchy, and her words came lame and mumbled instead of nice.

'Is something wrong?' Sandor asked instead of thank you.

'Yes!' she blurted. 'I hate my sister!'

'I have a sister, too. She is a nosy brat sometimes, and I hate her. But I love her, too.'

Arya was a brat always. But how can she explain it to a person who never knew her sister? Sansa turned away silently.

'Let's go in,' said Sandor.

And in they went.

Sansa was looking around gingerly. There was so much to see! The front yard of the Margaery's house was done so beautifully with all the trees cut smartly into nice shapes, and rose bushes, and small fountains. Also, they gave her a reason to turn away from Clegane, to aviod looking him in the face. He was looking only at her however; she could feel him taking in every inch of her face and body. It was flattering, and at the same time it gave her creeps.

When they approached the entrance, wide open and letting out the rhythmic sounds of the party, Sansa inhaled deeply and tried to look nonchalant.

Of course Joffrey was here. He was Margaery's boyfriend. Sansa felt foolish for being surprised to see him. She let go of Sandor's hand, which she had grabbed upon seeing Joff. "Isn't it beautiful?" she commented to Sandor, looking around the Tyrell home. The décor was breathtaking; exactly what she'd imagined when she'd heard that they'd hired a famous interior decorator.

Sandor sneered at a particularly interesting piece of rare tribal art. "If you say so."

"Sansa!" Margaery kissed the air beside each cheek, and Sansa returned the greeting.

"I love your outfit," Sansa told her. And she wasn't just being polite. It was a gorgeous dress. It looked remarkably like one she'd seen in Vogue. Mother never let Sansa buy clothes that were that expensive.

"Thank you. You look amazing too." Margaery put her arm around Sansa's shoulder and began leading her to a large group of people. "Have you met my brother Loras?"

"I haven't," Sansa said. She was so excited that Margaery was going to introduce them. Loras was even better looking than Joffrey, and older too.

"It's nice to meet you, Sansa," he said. And then he went and got her a cup of soda!

Sansa didn't mind when Renly Baratheon led him away. He seemed to like her. Maybe he was going to ask her out later. Maybe that was why Margaery had invited her. She was so glad she hadn't stayed home and watched horror movies like Sandor had wanted. Sandor! She'd forgotten all about him. Sansa glanced around, but she didn't see him. She saw his huge older brother Gregor though, who was listening to whatever Cersei Lannister was saying to him.

"You look hot, Sansa," Joffrey said.

Sansa spun around, appalled that he'd snuck up on her. She didn't know what to say, not after the way he'd broken up with her. Why was he talking to her now?

"I've been wanting to talk to you. I'm sorry."

He was? Sansa stared at him suspiciously.

"I can barely hear myself. Why don't you come upstairs so we can talk?"

The music was rather loud. Still, Sansa was not going up to a bedroom with Joffrey. She'd avoided that when they were dating and she wasn't about to do it now that they were no longer together. "We could go out into the garden," she said.

They reached a small gazebo next to the house, and Joff took Sansa's hand.

'You look so beautiful tonight,' he said, moving closer.

'Thanks, it's nice to hear that,' the girl answered, trying to free her hand. But Joff had a good hold of it.

'I was waiting for you from the very beginning.' He stepped even closer. Golden curls framed his handsome face. He looked dashing in this blue shirt emroidered with gold thread. Sansa felt her heart leap; suddenly, she desperately wanted to get back to the times when they were seeing each other. Perhaps Joff is going to make amends?

'You said you wanted to apologize,' she reminded him courtiously.

'Ah, yes. Sorry. I should not have been so mean with you. It was cruel from my part to stop talking to you. You are such a wonderful girl. You love me still, don't you? You should forgive me.' Joff looked every inch of a good-mannered gentleman, but his eyes were cold. Like ice.

'What about Margaery?' Sansa asked, taken aback.

'What about her? Margaery is inside, and we are here,' Baratheon smiled, moved towards her, put his hands on her waist and bent to kiss her.

'What?' Sansa shrieked, coming to her senses at the very last moment, when their lips almost touched. She wiggled out of the embrace and backed away. But not far away. Her back brushed against the gazebo stone wall. 'You are not going to leave Margary?'

Joffrey was not happy with the turn the conversation was taking.

'Let's talk about it after,' he said, his voice full of contained anger.

'No,' Sansa said, trying to sound firm and sure. 'The will be no 'after'. We split, and that's it. There is nothing between us, and it will stay this way.'

'Sansa, stop your caprices! They drive me nuts, and you know it!' Joff was furious and no longer saw it necessary to hide it. He grabbed the girl's wrists, shove them up, against the stone wall, and tried to kiss her full in the lips.

'Eeeeeeee!' Sansa squealed, waving her head and kicking just as Arya did a short while ago. But Baratheon was stronger than her, and angrier, and she couldn't wiggle free.

'Let her go. See, she doesn't want it,' came a rough voice.

Joffrey paid it no mind. But the next moment Sandor's hand tore him off Sansa and shove him away.

'Have you lost your mind, Clegane?' Barathen raged. 'What got into you, freak?'

'She doesn't want it,' Sandor repeated stubbornly.

'I don't care! Get her hands and hold her, I want her to stand still!'

Sandor stood between furious Joffrey and dishevelled Sansa, looking undecisively from one to another.

'Why are you standing there, like an idiot? Hit her!' Baratheon's face got so contorted with anger that Sansa couldn't find even a trace of the former beauty.

She saw Clegane's eyes. There was fear in there. 'Joffrey is the only one who wants to be friends with me,' she remembered him saying. Her heart sank. Sandor believes Joffrey to be his friend. He'll do everything Joff says. Always did.

'You as slow as you are dumb!' Joffrey's voice lashed. 'Hit her, I say!'

'Bugger off,' Sandor growled, and spat at the Baratheon's feet. Then he grabbed shivering Sansa by the elbow, and dragged her away.

* * *

><p>'I loved him, I loved him so much! I always thought he was the best, the very best!'<p>

Sandor took Sansa to the park on the other side of the house. It was beautiful here, too, even better without that ugly gazebo. When the girl felt safe, she started talking and now she couldn't stop. She was spluttering gibberish about Joffrey, but she couldn't help it. Sandor put one hand around her shoulder, walking her around a small fountain again and again, listening silently and keeping silence.

'He was always mad because of small things! He could shout at me for no reason and then leave and never call for days! Sometimes I even called him first. And he behaved as if nothing has happened! And if I said something reproachful, he got mad, too! He used to say: 'If you don't like things the way they are, I'm leaving!'. He said it was me, my caprices, my whims, my whines. And I believed him, I thought it was my fault! I did everything to please him, to not make him angry! I'm so stupid! I hate myself so much!'

'Don't,' Sandor said.

Sansa came to her senses. She stopped and looked at him. She couldn't quite make his face in the dim light of the small lantern (she knew his face well enough as it was) and was glad for it: she could look at his face almost without wincing at his scars. However, Sandor seemed unaccustomed to endure someone's looks for long. Discomfort visible clearly on his face, he licked his lips and said:

'Now I am with you. They are all afraid of me. If they hurt you, I'll beat them.'

Sansa knew Sandor's fists cannot protect her from the soul wounds, but it was still nice to hear him saying a thing like that.

'Thank you,' she said, hugging him and hiding her face at his chest.

* * *

><p>Brienne Tarth stood in a shadowy corner and watched everyone else having a good time. She held a paper cup of beer in one hand but never once did it reach her lips. She'd only accepted the cup because Renly had given it to her. In fact she was only here because of Renly.<p>

Brienne hated parties; she was always too shy to approach anyone and she never knew what to say when other people approached her, on the rare occasion someone tried to be kind rather than making fun of her. And anyway she hadn't been invited to the Tyrells' party so she'd had no intention of going. But Renly had turned to her at lunch yesterday and said, "You're going too, right Brienne?"

Renly was the center of attention here, chatting with Margaery, both of them surrounded by people. The girls all wore short skirts or dresses with cleavage-baring necklines. Brienne was miserably aware of her unfashionable jeans and man's dress shirt. It was no wonder Renly had forgotten about her after his initial greeting. He laughed at something Margaery said and slung his arm around Loras in a friendly embrace.

Unable to bear it anymore, Brienne left the safety of her corner. She went out onto the terrace and found a spot behind some potted trees that had a nice view of the night sky and the mansions lower on the hill. She sighed. She should have just stayed home. A night spent watching DVDs with her father would have been better than this.

A couple walked into view. The guy had his arm around the girl and when they stopped, she threw her arms around his middle and pressed her face against his chest. Brienne would have looked away to give them privacy but the clouds parted and the moonlight allowed Brienne to recognize the girl. That was Sansa Stark.

Brienne didn't know Sansa but she knew her mother. Mrs. Stark volunteered at the same soup kitchen Brienne did. She'd always been very kind to Brienne and so Brienne couldn't in good conscience ignore this. Sansa was only fourteen and Sandor Clegane was a junior and had a bad reputation besides. Mrs. Stark certainly wouldn't approve. Brienne didn't like the idea of being a gossip and tattling to her though; perhaps she could have a talk with Sansa. Older boys wanted only one thing from freshman girls, even ones as ugly as Brienne, she had learned.

"You make an ugly wallflower." Jaime Lannister sauntered towards her.

Brienne tensed. She had been ridiculed all her life, but somehow it was worse when Jaime did it. He was in her "Ethics and Morality" elective and they'd been paired together to work on a paper and presentation due at the end of the term. Jaime had been making her miserable and enraged ever since.

'Very funny,' she muttered. She didn't have a knack for refined sarcasm, like Jaime did, and couldn't think of anything better.

'What was that?' Lannister brought his hand to his ear, pretending to be listening.

'You heard me.'

'Oh, yes. I definitely heard... something. I believe it was your stomach rumbling.'

'My stomach wasn't rumbling.' Brienne turned her back to Jaime, hoping he will understand the conversation is over, and leave. Right.

'Really?' he exclaimed. He sounded so astonished it was hard to believe he faked it. 'But my stomach definitely didn't make any sounds, and there is noone here except us. Or maybe there is a little man hiding in your cup, and it's his stomach rumbling?'

'There is only beer in my cup,' said Brienne dryly. She was getting tired of this show, and it was hard not to show how it hurt.

'You drink beer?' Jaime feinted surprise. 'From a paper cup? Ew. How very unaesthetic and unladylike!'

'Your champagne is ladylike all right, I expect!' she snapped, secretly content with coming up with the reason to sting him.

Jaime inspected his own glass curiously, as if seeing it for the first time.

'Champagne is not an indicator of sex,' he said in a lecturing tone. 'It is an indicator of the social status. Would you care for a glass of champagne, lady Brienne?' Lannister bowed, just like an actor from a history movie, and offered his glass to Tarth.

She would gladly splutter her beer against his impeccably white starched shirt, or gave him a smack on this perfect smug face! She was so hurt she wanted to cry.

But she didn't do either of these things. She just shove Jaime out of her way and scurried away, heading for the living room, where she hid in a dark corner between curtains and the fireplace.

And in the middle of the room, there was Renly. Renly, surrounded by girls and guys, so handsome, so popular, so successful... so like Brienne would never be.


	3. Morality and Popularity

_Author: **Akara**. Idea belongs to **Redcandle17**. Translator: **Perelynn**._

* * *

><p>If anybody asked Sansa how she felt she'd probably say 'like a skeleton in the Science Classroom: deserving rest and unable to get any shut-eye'. The party at Margaery's house ended late, and then Sansa tossed and turned all night, reliving the horrible incident she had with Joff, unable to close her eyes. The only good thing was that it was Friday. Which meant that tomorrow she'd be able to sleep as long as she wanted, without having to worry about classes or homework. Who was that genius who gave Tyrells the brilliant idea to throw a party in the middle of the week? Sansa's best guess was they just didn't want to compete with the school Autumn Ball on Saturday.<p>

She suffered through algebra, history and literature, and then went to the bathroom to make herself prettier before lunch.

'Hi,' somebody said to her as Sansa busied herself with powdering the dark circles under her eyes.

She turned and saw a senior student, tall and broad-figured like a boy. She dressed like a boy, too: jeans, shapeless T-shirt, an old tattered backpack on her shoulder. Sansa thought she knew her from somewhere...

'You do not know me,' the older girl said hurriedly. 'But I know your mom. We volunteer together at the Church of Holy Goodness soup kitchen. You are Sansa Stark. My name is Brienne Tarth.'

'Nice to meet you,' Sansa said, smiling courtiously. Her Mom surely spent all the evenings at the charity kitchen, but what does this girl want?

'Can I have a word with you?'

Sansa nodded cautiously. Together, the two girls moved towards the window, farther from other occupants of the bathroom.

'I apologize for meddling, Sansa. But I believe it's my duty to help you and warn you about something.'

'Duty..,' Sansa repeated automatically. Oh yes. Duty was her Mom's favorite word.

Brienne nodded agitatedly, playing with her T-shirt. Then she took a deep breath and blurted out:

'Yesterday at Tyrell's place I saw you with a senior boy. Sandor Clegane. The reputation he has! Everybody knows he's a freak, and a dangerous one at that. And at his age the boys think only... only about... you know... how to drag a girl into bed. Nothing else. And this Clegane is also unpredictable. Look at his older brother, all the normal girls take a wide loop walking around him hoping he won't notice them. He is known not to take 'no' for an answer!'

'Sandor is nothing like his brother,' Sansa objected.

'Like or no like, he is dangerous. Maybe even more so. Half of his face is burned; I doubt it makes him any milder or more reasonable.'

Brienne spoke so hotly she forgot she was nervous. She was making sense; but her remark on Sandor's looks wounded Sansa unexpectedly deep, and that nulled all the Tarth's efforts.

'It is wrong to judge people by their appearance,' Sansa said. 'Sandor has many good traits, you just need to take a closer look to see them.'

'Maybe it's true,' Brienne said wearily. 'But are you sure he looks inside you as deep? How do you know it's not your looks that interest him? Sansa, the boys don't care about the girls' inner beauty. They don't see us as persons, but only as objects of sexual desire,' the last words sounded as if Brienned learnt them by heart. 'With educated, good-mannered boys like Renly Baratheon you can count on some respect. But not with the freaks like Clegane!'

Joffrey was Renly's nephew and he could be very good-mannered when he wanted. But very often, yesterday included, he didn't show a trace of respect towards Sansa. At the same time, 'the freak' Clegane protected her and consoled her. On the other hand, Sandor seemed to ignore all Sansa's attempts to get closer, to know him better, to find common grounds. (He kept hanging around her though; today she even found him waiting for her next to the lockers, and he never did this before). Maybe she really doesn't interest him as a person?

'Thank you, Brienne,' she said, though it was very hard for her to be courteous just now. 'I'll think about your words. I really will. But now I got to go.'

* * *

><p>Sandor was waiting for Sansa in the corridor at the entrance to the cafeteria, though usually he joined her at the table.<p>

'You don't look good,' he said matter-of-factly.

'Didn't have enough sleep.' Sansa thought she should be used to his bluntness by now. Any other boy would come up with a compliment or just keep silence.

'Why are you spending some much time with me today?'

'Because there is nothing for me to do around Joffrey anymore,' Sandor guffawed.

At the caf doors they ran into Loras Tyrell.

'Sansa, can I have a word?' he asked, his smile perfect as ever.

The girl excused herself to Sandor and stepped aside with Tyrell.

'You look beautiful today,' he told her in admiring tones.

Sansa thanked him reservedly, remembering the previous opinion regarding her looks which sounded much more truthful.

'Do you have any plans for tonight?'

She barely stopped herself from giggling happily. She did guess correctly at the party! He wants to go out with her!

'Nothing urgent,' she answered in the non-committing manner her mother approved of when teaching her etiquette.

'How about going somewhere fun?'

They agreed to meet at the entrance to the King's Landing shopping mall at 5 PM. Sansa was radiant when she returned; even Sandor's sullen face couldn't darken her mood.

'What did he want?' Clegane asked at last when they joined the queue to the hot counter.

Sansa hesitated, wary of his reaction. She knew Sandor liked her. But the girl still opted for the truth.

'He asked me out for a date.'

'Ha! Is it a new fag fasion to masque their fagginess by asking girls out?'

'Loras is not a fag!' Sansa said, indignant.

'Tell this to Renly Baratheon. I bet he'll be surprised!'

Sansa said nothing to that. Sandor looked jealous, and she didn't want to vex him further.

* * *

><p>'Good day, class!'<p>

Miss Melisandre R'hllor was dressed, as always, all in red, and looked, as always, drop-dead gorgeous. Red high-heeled shoes, red skirt falling to her knees, red jacket, cut so low it was bordering on inappropriate. There was a big ruby dancing on a golden chain around her neck. She wore her red locks loose, but had them sprayed smartly to look attractive, yet not provocative. Every student in Westeros High knew the new teacher from the neighbour town Essos annoys Vice Principal Stannis Baratheon out of his wits; however, he never managed to get rid off her, she was so impeccable. Her looks and manners were definitely alluring, yet she never broke school rules or law in general. Students nicknamed her 'the red woman'. Some thought her charming, some frightening, some scandalous; but nobody stayed indifferent. The rumour was Miss R'hllor's eyes were also red, and she wore contacts to colour them brown.

'Greetings to everybody who showed up today for the 'Ethic and Morality' elective. Please sit down.'

Brienne took her seat. Jaime dropped on the chair next to hers, lounging relaxedly.

Before, the elective was taught by Mister Baratheon; they had a couple of classes with him in the beginning of the semester, but then the young teacher took over, to the whole group's delight. Brienned seemed to be the only person who was upset about it. The Vice Principal was a stern man, severe even, but he was known to have high moral standards.

As for Miss R'hllor, Brienne found her manners way too easy and indulgent. The teacher encouranged dubious interpretation and, using her own words, opinion pluralism concerning way too many matters and convictions.

'Today, we'll talk about something that spread its roots towards the ancient times and relates closely to the origin of humanity itself. Incest.' Melisandre wrote the word on the board in big white letters. 'Can anybody tell me what it means?'

Brienne winced with disgust. What kind of topic is that? Most students lowered their eyes; some coughed.

'It's when a brother has sex with a sister!' Asha Greyjoy shouted from her seat.

She was rocking on her chair, leaning her elbows against the desk behind her back. Short black hair, crooked nose, a black jacket slashed with leather almost cracking on her chest, tight jeans. Asha was reputed to know no fear. Cersei Lannister made threats weekly to throw her out of the cheerleaders; but never actually did. Greyjoy was the best gymnast in the team, easily throwing the most difficult sommersaults, boldly managing the most dangerous tricks at the top of any pyramid. It was known the captain of the team was less physically capable than Asha; yet Greyjoy never showed any ambition for leadership, though Cersei feared she might. Asha bore no trace of the cheerleader glamour; her clothes were provocative, her manners impudent, and her admirers countless.

'You're almost right, Asha,' Miss R'hllor nodded. 'It's a sexual relationship between close relatives. Now let's brainstorm to describe this notion fully. You're saying everything you know about incest, and I'm writing it on the board.'

'It is a sin,' said Asha in a low, husky voice, biting the tip of her index finger.

'And it's against the law,' Brienne felt obliged to add.

'It's against the law to marry close relatives. But nobody forbids them to have sex!' Jaime announced. 'Except miss Tarth, apparently.'

'From a public standpoint both cases are immoral!' Brie parried at once.

'It depends on the society the public belongs, you know-it-all. Royal families in Egypt and Inca kingdom kept bloodline pure via incest.'

'And then degenerated due to the genetic anomalies!'

'A questionable statement. Or our Miss High Moral Standards were personally present at the degeneration?' Even when Lannister was being rude his face remained so charming it was simply asking for a good blow.

'Oooooeeee! Go Jaime go! Go get him, Brie! Show what you know! To victory!' Asha urged them, waving her arms in a cheerleader fasion. The group sniggered.

Brienne could feel blood pumping in her temples. Right at the moment it would be much easier for her to agrue with her fists rather than words.

'Everybody knows incest leads to mutations and deformities! Even freaks like you!' she shouted.

'There is no one like me,' Lannister announced smugly. ' There is only me. By the way, Brienne, I've heard you go to the Holy Goodness Church quite often. Do you believe in God?'

'Yes,' she admitted warily, sensing mischief.

'Then you should accept the fact that you, yourself, is a product of incest. Whom, do you think, Adam and Eve's children banged if not themselves?

'The church forgives this sin! It was inevitable!'

'Then you must forgive this world. It is imperfect. There are wars in it. And famine. And homosexualism. And, yes, incest. Whatever you do, you cannot change it.'

'All right, class, it is enough for now. I'm almost out of space here,' interrupted Miss R'hllor from the board at the very moment when Brienne decided the fist was the only argument left to her. 'Now I'll tell you some of the history of this social phenomena, along with some research done by Sigmund Freud.'

* * *

><p>Loras Tyrell gave Sansa a red rose when they met. The boy turned out to be very easy-going, merry and good-natured. In the King's Landing mall there was cinema, skating rink, foodcourt, lots of slot machines, but the chatting couple went to one boutique, then visited another one, then another...<p>

Sansa was having a time of her life. Loras knew all about fasion trends and famous brands; they looked at clothes, talked about clothes, tried clothes on, complimented each other, joked, experimented with new styles, sometimes bought something. Sansa even forgot she was sleepy. Shopping with Loras was much more entertaining than that with Jeyne Poole. Jeyne had no interst in the things she could't afford. Sansa didn't get it. Even if you cannot buy something, how does it hurt to try it on?

One time Loras saw something in the shop window, and asked Sansa to turn away and wait for him. Ten minutes later he came back and wove a wonderful scarf around her neck. It was emerald green, very soft and so thin you could see through it. Sansa's next purchase was a dress of the same color, sleek and sparkling, like a snake skin or a dragon hide.

Then they sat in the cafe upstairs, eating pizza, drinking milkshakes, gossiping and laughing so hard it was hard to breath. Sansa never had anything like this with Sandor. Maybe it's because Loras is really interested in me as a person, she thought.

'That guy I saw you with today, when we met.' Tyrell said abruptly. 'What's his name...'

'Sandor Clegane.'

'Right. You seem to spend a lot of time in his company. Friend of yours, is he?'

'He is,' Sansa said. Is today somehow special? Why does everybody want to know what's between her and Sandor?

'He is said to have a bad reputation. And you're a good student, and so beautiful besides. You have bright future ahead of you, but with him hanging around you may never achieve the popularity you deserve.'

Sansa gripped her milkshake tightly. They surely conspired against her! She could discard Brienne's warnings, but Loras's words hit the bull's eye. School society had a strict hierarchy; whatever group a student happened to belong to they were expected to obey its rules. Among other things, the rules dictated whom they were on talking terms with.

Joff was always surrounded by elite kids whose parents were comfortable with money. Sandor was regarded as some kind of bodyguard and a watchdog. As for Sansa, before she hooked up with Joffrey she was known as a nerd; nerds are never popular, and she was feeling even lonelier now, when they split. Spending her time with the likes of Clegane was equal to having a word 'loser' written across her forehead.

'Loras, when everyone deserted me, Sandor was the only one who stayed. Choosing popularity over our friendship would not be fair.' Sansa's voice sounded much surer than she felt.

'It's up to you,' Loras shrugged, brushing a wayward strand of fair hair off his brow elegantly.'Would you like to go to the Autumn Ball with me tomorrow?'

* * *

><p>The Autumn Ball seemed to attract all the students, juniors and seniors alike. The huge lobby was full of music; a sparkling mirror sphere was rotating under the ceiling, throwing rainbow beams in all directions.<p>

As always, students clustered together, talking mostly to the members of their group. The clusters around Cersei Lannister and Margaery Tyrell were considered the most numerous and popular. They were located in the opposite sides of the hall, so anyone who wanted to switch had to struggle though the crowd of fellow students dancing in the middle.

For the ball, Sansa was sure to put on the new dress with the emerald scarf. She had to endure Mom's scolding for being excessively extravagant, but the girl forgot all about it once she set her foot on the school floor.

Loras, again, was magnificent. He introduced Sansa to a number of his friends, none of whom she met before; he kept her soda coming and his compliments flowing. And he was such a _splendid_dancer!

It took Sansa a while to notice Sandor: Clegane was lurking in a dark corner. Sometimes he vanished, sometimes reappeared, but never danced. Sansa wanted to approach him, but never had time to do it: Loras was constantly coming up with new ideas of what they could do.

It was almost time for the dancing to end and for the Autumn Ball Queen to be elected, when Loras excused himself and left to see his sister. Sansa used the pause to hurry towards the corner where she last saw Sandor. She walked along the walls twice, but he was nowhere to be seen. The girl decided to circle the hall perimeter. He must be somewhere!

When the number of uninspected corners decreased dramatically, and Sansa's confidence that Clegane went home raised high as the sky, someone grabbed her hand tightly and turned her around.

'Sandor!' she squeaked, trying to hide her fear. 'I was looking for you.'

'Yes. I saw. Looking for me all night long next to Loras Tyrell. I don't keep company with fags, you know.'

Clegane was drunk. He swayed violently, with his one hand around Sansa's and another leaning heavily against the wall.

'Well, you found me. Aren't you happy? Let's go.'

Sansa wanted to ask 'Where?' but she was too fightened, for him and for herself both. Sandor led her out of the hall, dragged through a dimly lit corridor and shoved into a dark auditorium. Now Sansa remembered all Brienne's words. She shivered.

He left the door half-open; the weak light was coming through the gap, just enough for the girl to see his eyes, full of anger. His gaze scared her more than his burns. Sandor pressed Sansa against the wall and steadied himself by setting his hands on both sides of her. He reeked of wine and sweat.

'So, how do you like that little fag?' he rasped.

'Loras is a very nice and pleasant companion.' Sansa babbled, seeing there was no chance whatsoever of saving Tyrell's good name.

'Nice and pleasant!' Sandor mocked her. He staggered but kept his footing. 'Bloody handsome too, right?'

'R-right,' Sansa agreed. She didn't see a point in arguing with him in this mood.

'And me? Would you call me handsome?'

She caught a whiff of his breath, a dreadful mix with a hint of vomit.

'You... you're very...' Sansa's throat went dry from the effort of picking the correct word. 'Likeable.'

'You lie!' Sandor roared. 'You little liar! You may trick others all you want, but you won't trick me! You are afraid to look at me, you think I didn't notice that? You're disgusted, right? Right?' He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

'Sandor...' she pleaded and began to cry.

Clegane quieted a bit and let the girl go. Then he staggered again and had to squat down.

'You want to know how I got that charming?' he asked, pointing at his burns. 'I was seven, and it was Christmas. That morning I got up earlier than Gregor, my brother, and ran to have a look at presents. I don't remember what was in the box with my name on it, but I didn't like it, and decided to check what Gregot got. I though I'd open his box, have a quick peak, and then wrap it again without him noticing. But he caught me while I was admiring his toy football player, perfect little thing, uniformed, helmeted, with a little ball in his hands. The arms and the legs were bendable, too. Gregor said nothing, just picked me up and tossed me to the fireplace. The fire was only half-extinct. I was shouting, begging forgiveness, trying to break free, all in vain. My brother was a big and strong boy even then; it took our father to tear him away from me. You think they took me to the hospital? No! My father sent Gregor to his room, dropped the big Christmas tree to the floor, set it on fire, as well as the table and the carpet and the cupboard, and then put the fire out with the fire extinguisher. All this time I was rolling on the floor, squealing from pain. Only after he was finished he called the ambulance. Told them I got burned during the accident. And Gregor never got punished! Now he is the best linebacker in the team, they are all swarming around him like flies around the pile of shit! He keeps receiving invitations from colleges! He is popular, oh yes! He is a star, and I'm a freak. For everybody and everyone.'

Sansa stood there, biting her small fist, looking at Clegane, stooped and squatted before her. Tears were running down her face, but it was not fear that caused them. She couldn't think of any words to console him - no words could quench this pain, this grievance. So the girl just lowered down on the floor next to Sandor, put her hand on his shoulder, and whispered:

'Not for me.'

* * *

><p>Brienne was wandering the hall all evening. Sometimes she even made some jerking movements, trying to follow the music, but with no success. She stood with the students who surrounded Renly for a while; drank some soda, did some more jerking movements along with the crowd. Renly noticed her, greeted her, and then forgot all about her, as always. The others also regarded her as some kind of furniture: when she was around, nobody noticed, when she was leaving, nobody cared.<p>

At least here, unlike at Tyrell's place, her outfit didn't look as out of line. There were many girls in jeans and T-shirts and only few in costly glamourous dresses. Asha Greyjoy went even further: she was dancing something rather erotic on the chair in the middle of the hall dressed only in torn jeans and a bra. She took off her top during the dance and threw it into the crowd of the wolf-whisting and hallooing admirers; the thing never reappeared, apparently torn down to souvenirs. At some point Vice Principal Stannis made his way towards her, drifting through the students like a iceboat through the polar ice. Mister Davos, who was following him, picked the girl off the chair, flang her over his shoulder and carried her towards the staff room. In about twenty minutes Asha returned, dressed in a men's shirt, climbed the same chair and began to dance anew. She wasn't undressing this time though.

Brienne also saw Sansa, but the younger girl never noticed her. No surprise there. It looked like Sansa paid heed to the advice Brienne gave her earlier, although in her own way: she switched from one sophomore to another. However, Loras was a friend of Renly's, and was undoubtedly much less dangerous than that horrible Clegane. Brienne even felt a pang of envy: it took Sansa only one day to find a new admirer, and such a handsome one at that! Loras couldn't compete with Renly, of course, but otherwise... However, with Sansa's looks a change of partner shouldn't have been that hard. Brienne was a totally different story though.

Miss Melisandre R'hllor took the microphone to let everyone know the name of the Autumn Ball Queen would be announced after two more dances. Probably, every girl dreams of being chosen as the Ball Queen. Every girl dreams, but only few girls are elected. And it very often happens to be the same girls over and over. How many times Cersei Lannister was elected? Three? Four?

There were days when Brienne dreamt, too, how her name sounds across the room, how she climbs the stage listening to the applause and merry shouts, how she bows her head to be crowned, how Renly looks at her with love in his eyes... days? She's dreaming about it right now!

Brienne felt mad and stupid, but her chance to dive into the abyss of self-reproach was spoiled. Music started again, a slow dance. Brienne hated slow dances. People broke into couples, and the losers who were too shy to ask anyone, along with the losers who hasn't got asked, had to move aside, to the walls. Brienne moved, too. She was no different from them.

'Hey, Brie!' came the cheerful voice. 'How about a dance?'

She turned. It was Lannister. Jaime Lanniser, cheeky and disamingly charming, as ever. His white teeth glimmered as he smiled, his green eyes sparkled in the changing light, his golden hair framed his handsome face.

'W-what?' Brienne stuttered.

'I'm asking you to dance, Miss Tarth,' he said, bowing gallantly.

He's making fun of her again!

'Bugger off!' she snapped, and turned away. But Jaime caught her by the hand.

'That was very uncivilized of you, Miss.' He shook his head. 'But I'm ready to forgive this little rudeness for just one dance!'

'Leave me alone, you idiot!' Brie shouted.

The idiot took her by the shoulders gently, almost tenderly.

'Brienne...'

He didn't have time to say anything else with the exception of some wheezing and unintelligiable swear words. Brienne's fist hit him square to the chest. Enough is enough! She's sick of this stupid clown and his charming smiles! She is not getting any more of that!

'Got it?' she asked lazily, and was answered with another wheeze. Then she left, satisfied.

Brienne felt proud at herself all through the last dance and up to the crowning of the Queen. Then she realized today was simply not Jaime's day! It was Margaery Tyrell who was chosen the Autumn Ball Queen. She ascended the podium and got the crown placed on her soft curls. But instead of hearing the new Queen's thanks, everybody had to listen to Cersei Lannister's hysterical shouts. The cheerleader captain was accusing teachers of the vote rigging, called Margaery nasty names and almost climbed the stage to take the crown off her rival. At the last moment Jaime caught his sister, threw his arms around her, pressing her own arms to her sides, and dragged her away. Cersei was wiggling and scratching like a cat; several times she managed to hit her brother with the back of her head. Later Mister Davos gave Jaime a hand, and together they transported the enraged girl to the nurse office, where they spent hours calming her down.

Now Brienne felt guilty instead of proud. Jaime had a hard time today; even without the bruises his sister gave him, the shame he had to endure in front of the whole school was already a lot to bear. And now Lannister had Brienne to add to the bunch, with her fists and her grudges.

What if Jaime really wanted to dance with her?


	4. Family, Duty, Honour

_Author: **Akara**. Idea belongs to: **Redcandle17**. Translator:** Perelynn**._

* * *

><p>The Vice Principal Stannis Baratheon was watching the students standing atop the caf at his favorite balcony. Young yet lost generation, he thought. With no notion of honour, shame or moral principles.<p>

Cersei Lannister was laughing nonchalantly, surrounded by her cheerleader team and everyone who sought to bask in their fame. The nasty fit she'd thrown in regards of Margaery Tyrell was apparently forgotten. Cressen, the Headmaster, forbade Stannis to mess with Lannisters, their father being the school's main sponsor. After the Autumn Ball the Vice Principal was making to the nurse office where Cersei was being calmed down intending to break the ban this time, but he was hindered by all the school staff headed by that slimiest economist, Petry Baelish. Just you wait, he thought bitterly. Just you wait until these youngsters grow up and come to rule the town. You will regret licking their asses then. You will wish you weeded them out while you could.

They were at least able to talk some sense into that wildling, Asha Greyjoy. To the extent it could be talked in at all, that is. Stannis still remembered the tough times the school was getting through when her older brother, Theon*, was a student here. An astonishing mix of pride and uselessness there. Thanks God, that one graduated last year, along with his buddy, Robb Stark. The latter was nearly impeccable though. And the best quarterback in the team, too. Jaime Lannister, uninjured at that time, used to grit his teeth enviously. The golden boy was younger though, and had all the chances to outshine Stark in later years, if not for his injury. However, Robb was also a good student, whose high marks had nothing to do with him being a Knight unlike most of his teammates. The only time Stark scuffled with anybody was when protecting a weak or fighting the injustice. The boy was everything a teacher could dream for, yet still Stannis Baratheon couldn't stomach him. Robb was too much like this father, Eddard, and annoyed Stannis more than all the gang of thugs downstairs put together.

Eddard Stark... The Vice Principal made a face at the mere thought. Robert's best friend, whom he loves like a brother. No. More than a brother. It is Stannis who should be a deputy mayor, not Stark! Whose knowledge of society is deeper than that of a person who had worked in a public school all his life? Who better can make people adhere to the rules, obey the law?

Robert is clearly an idiot, and Renly doesn't score much better either. Why does he waste his time amidst the artsy-fartsy lazybones, Loras Tyrell not the last of them? Evidently the youngest decided to get himself an Eddard Stark of his very own. Moved to the eldest's place, too, and mimics his every step. What a family! His own daughter, Shireen, will get a proper upbringing, he'll see to that.

'Admiring the view?' Miss Melisandre R'hllor approached him from behind soundlessly and leaned on her elbows against the balcony's handrail. Here she comes, another person the Vice Principal cannot stomach, this time from among the staff members.

'There is nothing to admire. Degradation right, left and center.' Stannis answered dryly.

'You are too severe on the younsters, Mister Baratheon,' the teacher spoke in a singsong voice, playing with a strand of her copper-red hair.

'Severe yet just.' He replied. 'While you are way too indulgent, Miss R'hllor. You'll come to regret it some day, I'm afraid.'

'I believe those children to be quite capable. My job is to give them an opportunity to realize their potential.' She arched her back in a cat-like manner; the red jacket parted slightly, giving the Vice Principal a peek of her round breasts.

'Your innovative practices, Miss R'hllor, can yet prove to be a great failure,' Stannis said mechanically, repeating the argument he used so often during the board meetings. He couldn't take his eyes off her jacket, as if his gaze got glued there.

'I'll prove you wrong, Mister Baratheon.' Melisandre's fingers touched her ruby pendant, and then ran absent-mindedly down, stroking the milk-white skin, pausing between the breasts, brushing the upper button of the jacket. 'I also believe you to have a great potential as well. You only need to reveal it. I know we often didn't look each other in the eye since I started here, but I hope it will change, to the side that will be beneficial for both of us.'

'Perhaps,' Stannis muttered, just to silence her. He mopped sweat off his brow, covered the bottom of his belly with a folder fortunately at hands, and went away in a quick, sure strides. 

* * *

><p>Jaime was four people away from her, filling his tray with food. Brienne stood in the line, thinking fervently. She should ask his forgiveness. She must. But how? He'll laugh at her, most like!<p>

Lannister completed his lunch with a glass of juice and went to the tables. He habitually chose a half-empty one right opposite to the one where Cersei sit surrounded by her admirers, and set his tray in the far end of it, where nobody would bother him.

Brienne helped herself with two glasses of lemon tea and stepped towards the tables hesitantly. She could see Renly and his friends sitting nearby; she always joined him at the table, usually at the corner to be on noone's way. Her feet seemed to turn in that direction on their own accord. No, she must go to Jaime first. They have no shared classes today. Lunchtime is her only chance.

Sansa Stark said hi to her, passing by. Brienne greeted the girl back, slightly surprised. She would expect Sansa to pretend she never knew her after their talk. It was a good sign, Brienne decided, turning towards Lannister's table.

'Hi.'

'Hi,' Jaime replied, eyeing her with interest. Or maybe with malice, it was hard to tell.

'Enjoy your meal,' Brienne said, feeling the blush creeping up her cheeks.

'Thank you. Wishing me to choke on my food and drop dead, are you?

The girl fought the impulse to lower her tray down on his golden-haired head. That was not what she came here for.

'Jaime, I'm very sorry about the, um, incident at the Autumn Ball.'

'Oh, Brie, spare me,' the boy made a face. 'I was hoping you'd be the last person to give me the stupid condolences! Look at Cersei: laughing and flirting as ever, as if nothing has happened. Wait, why 'if'? Nobody dares remind my sweet sister about her fit. So why should she bother, if nobody else does? Why, they are coming to me instead. As if it was I who was shouting obscenities for all the school to hear and climbing the stage to scratch Margaery's eyes out and take the crown off her.'

'I wasn't talking about this!' Brienne objected. 'I wanted to say sorry about hitting you. I didn't mean to! Well, I meant to, but... I simply...'

Jaime gave the girl a piercing look. Brienne took a deep breath, steadying herself for the pick to come.

'Don't mention it,' he said, his voice curiously devoid of its usual acidity. 'It didn't hurt. Almost. Next time I'll bind a pillow to my chest before asking you to dance.'

_Next time_? Brienne nearly blurted out. Does he really intend to dance with her? Either Lannister went completely bonkers, or he is up to something - something inventively unpleasant, most like. Whatever is the case, she's not going to aid him at that!

'Thank you. Got to go,' she said curtly. Then she turned her back at him and went towards Renly's table, listening to the soft rattle of the plates and glasses on the tray in her trembling hands. 

* * *

><p>They say Monday is a lame way to spend one seventh of your life, and today Sansa experienced the truth of this saying to its full extent.<p>

It's not that everything was dreadful. She got the highest marks in three classes. Weather was good, sunny and warm, like in summer, though the calendar showed the end of September. But something has got into people around her. Well, Joffrey was not exactly a person she tried to stay close to these days, so it was to the best that his friends were making a point of not noticing her. Some students, including Jeyne Poole, smiled to her and greeted her; however, Loras Tyrell, the boy she went to a date with, the boy she danced through the whole Autumn Ball with, just asked how she was, promised to 'talk to her later' and then turned away to chat with his friend Renly! This was all done gracefully and politely, but still, she didn't expect such an attitude after everything that had happened between them.

Even Sandor Clegane stayed well away from her. When they ran into each other in the corridor, he strode past with just a short 'hi' to her direction. He didn't even stop! Sansa decided to talk to him at lunchtime, but he sat at a different table, ate very quickly and was gone long before the break ended. What's going on?

On Saturday, when Sandor told her about his burns, and she sat next to him and told him she didn't think he was a freak, he stared at her for a long time as if trying to understand if she was lying or not. Her hand was still on his shoulder; when she thought she wound't get a response, the girl touched his scarred cheek gently. With a jolt, Sandor threw his arms around her, nearly scaring the life our of her. They rose to their feet and stood there for a long time, locked in a tight embrace. Sansa didn't know what to do, and didn't want to do anything wrong, so she leaned her head against his chest and put her arms around his broad back.

When sounds of music from the hall stopped, they realized the Autumn Ball has ended. Now they could hear steps and voices in the corridor, while teachers and students were taking the equipment and the furniture back to the classrooms.

Sansa forced Sandor to call a cab. He didn't want to, but she forbade him firmly to go home by public transportation. He was so drunk he walked with a reel. She had to hold him by the hand while they were making to the gates. She considered asking Hullen to take Sandor home, but didn't dare risk it: the driver would tell her parents, and Sansa doubted they would approve of such a friend for their daughter.

On Sunday, she only managed to reach him on the phone in the afternoon. Sandor seemed to have just woken up and not in a mood to talk. Ever since she found out the story of his burns, she worried about him, though she couldn't quite explain why. Perhaps the reason was the promise he had made her make? He urged her to never tell this story to anyone, unless she fancied Gregor to find out and give her a hard time. But the point was it wasn't herself she was worried about...

Hullen pulled over and left the car to open the door for Sansa. The girl sat upright, took her purse and got out of the car.

On the front yard Summer was running around with Ghost at his heels, and Nymeria was fighting Shaggydog with a ferocity that sent the fur flying all around the lawn, and with a noise that spread all around the block. Lady was grooming herself impassively, checking her side for non-existing fleas. At the sight of her mistress she wagged her tail and ran towards her.

Sansa kneeled to pet the dog (Lady used this opportunity to lick her cheeks) and shot a glance sideways at the white hound with red eyes. If Ghost is here, then his master is also somewhere nearby. Jon Snow, half-brother to Sansa and her siblings, illegitimate son of Eddard Stark. Mom told her Father brought Jon home when he was only a baby, several months or so, mere days after Mom came from the hospital where she gave birth to their first child, Robb.

Mom always said this deed was not only a blow to her face, but a stain on the family honour. Jon didn't know who his mother was, otherwise he would be sent off to live with the woman in a matters of seconds.

Since last summer the boy lived in the dorm of the Police Academy, along with his dog. It was Uncle Benjen who helped Jon move there; he also found his nephew a place in the police squad. Uncle has been the head of the squad for decades. Jon used to be a rookie in the team; but then he passed the tests and joined the Academy, and now he was a real policeman. He even wore uniform and a holstered gun at his belt. Father always says how he is proud of him, and Mom is happy she no longer has to share a roof with 'this whoreson'. Yes, that's what she says, although she is quite adamant about forbidding her children to use any kind of swear words.

Sansa tugged Lady by the collar, and they entered the house together. Dad is in the town hall, he hardly leaves the place since he was appointed a deputy mayor by Robert Baratheon. Mom is volunteering at the Holy Goodness Church kitchen for homeless. She has been virtually living there ever since Dad started at the town hall. Of course, Jon picked the time for his visit carefully, making a point of not encountering . But right now Bran is at the chess club he got signed up to last week; Rickon is in the nearby park with Nanny Nan, and Robb is still either in college or at work, as it was his job to manage the 'Stark Security Agency' business nowadays. Only Arya, who had two classes less today than the older sister, was at home.

There were sounds coming from the living room: shouting, squeeling, low growl and the sound of muffled punches. There was also laugh, high-pitched of a girl, and booming of a boy in his late teens. Sansa went there in a confident stride, and took an accusing posture her mother loved so well: arms crossed, left shoulder leans slightly at the doorframe, lips pursed, chin lifted high in the air.

Arya was excitedly punching a coach pillow Jon was holding with her arms and legs. They never noticed Sansa, but it was all for the better. The longer she stays here unnoticed, the stronger is the effect when they finally realize they are not alone anymore.

Sansa busied herself picturing the tone she'll use to notify the couple she is going to tell Mother everything about Jon's visit and their pillow fight. At some point Arya shot a stray glance at the door, took sight of the sister and froze with her foot in the air, like a heron. Snow turned slowly.

That was the moment when Sansa saw their eyes. Grey, so alike, and yet so different. There was anger and defiance in Arya's stare; Jon's eyes were anxious, haunted with a spark of hatred underneath, and they reminded her of other eyes, also grey. Sandor's eyes. She saw that look in them Saturday night, when he was telling her about Gregor, when all the way to the school's gates he was speaking of nothing but his hatred, of his desire to kill his brother some day.

What if Jon hates Sansa as much?

No! This cannot be so!

But why not? She's been badgering Jon since she could remember herself. She reported to Mom his every step. She... the list of things she did was endless.

Sansa stood there as if hit by a lightning. She was leaning on the doorframe, for true this time. She was biting her lips helplessly. Her nails were digging into the tight skin on her elbows.

'What do you want?' Arya demanded angrily.

'I... I only... wanted to tell you...' Sansa's mind was racing fervently for something to say. No, not simply something, but something good, something she never told her half-brother before. 'Jon, the police uniform really suits you. You look so... grown up!'

The youth raised his eyebrows suspiciously.

'In the old times children like me were called bastards. People said bastards grew up quicker than other kids,' he managed. 'I guess that is what you wanted to say?'

'No!' Sansa shook her head violently. 'I wanted to pay you a compliment! You are my brother, and we haven't been nice to you all this time...'

Jon threw the pillow on the couch.

'Brother? Since when? If you indeed took it into your head to call me so, Sansa, I wouldn't recommend to tell that!'

His last words were more of a shriek. Jon hurried out of the room, nearly shoving Sansa aside. Arya exhaled noisily, gave her a fierce look and ran after their brother. 

* * *

><p>The onion rings were slick and slippery, but Brienne was holding them tightly and slicing relentlessly. Mrs Stark blew her nose, mopped her runny eyes with her sleeve, and pushed the next helping of the sliced onion off the board to the bowl. In the big pans at the far end of the kitchen the water was already boiling, ready to become a soup for homeless. At the tables next to them other women were cutting carrots, peeling potatoes, slicing lettuce, opening bean and meat cans.<p>

'Mrs Stark, I'm so proud to know you!' Brienne said. Her nose was running, but her words were true.

Catelyn looked at her with blinking eyes.

'Oh, Brie, this is certainly a nice thing to hear. I believe, however, that you judge me much fairer than I deserve.'

'Oh, no, Mrs Stark! I truly think you're a wonderful woman! You're the most noble, kind and compassionate person I've ever met! Your husband is a deputy mayor, you have a great house and lots of money, but you don't forget those who need your help. You don't simply donate money to the Holy Goodness Church like Lannisters or Baratheons. You are helping here, in the kitchen, where we are always short of hands. And you take the most difficult work!' Brienne gave a bowl of onions a meaningful look.

'Oh, girl. I have five children, and I so rarely see them!' Catelyn sighed.

'Yes, that's what I mean!' Tarth supplied. 'You're ready to sacrifice your own family for those who needs your help!'

'You are so young and naive, Brienne.' Mrs Stark shook her head. 'It's the worst thing ever, when you have to sacrifice your family. Even more so when you're doing to do your duty to the family. I'm not in the park with the baby Rickon, who needs his mother so much, I'm not taking Bran to the club I signed him up to, I don't know where Arya grazed her knee this time, I am not talking to Sansa, and she is at such troubling age, turning from a little girl into adult. I don't know what her friends are like, who are the boys she fancies. I'm in the agency all day long, trying to help Robb to deal with financial affairs. He is only eighteen, just graduated from high school, and he has to run the business that has been feeding Starks for generations. Ned is always busy in the town hall. And in the afternoon I slice and bake and grill food in the Holy Goodness Church while it's been years since I cooked a lemoncake for my children. I see my family only in the evenings when I barely have the energy to eat, hobble off to my bedroom, collapse on my bed and pass out! Do you think I like that?' Mrs Stark whispered, glancing around cautiously. 'Do you think I'm doing it because I'm kind and noble? No. It's my duty. To Robb, who needs my help most of all. Ned will not always be a deputy mayor, and if 'Stark Security Agency' gets bankrupt, we won't have a living. To Ned, whose reputation I ought to maintain. While Robert Baratheon is wandering around casinos and night clubs, and his wife spends her time and his money in boutiques and restaurants, the deputy mayor does everything to win him love and affection of the citizens for the elections to come. My duty is to help him with this. Are you still proud of knowing me, Brienne?'

By the time Mrs Stark finished talking, she was surrponded by mounds of shredded onion, never pushed into the bowl, and her eyes were full of tears, caused not by the onions at all.

'Of course I am,' Brienne replied. She couldn't think of anything else to say.

Catelyn shook her head dubiously, and busied herself with moving the onion into the bowl.

The pause was getting uncomfortably long.

'This Saturday at the Autumn Ball a boy invited me to dance,' Brienne said, just to fill in the silence. Why on earth did she pick this specific memory?

'Renly?' Mrs Stark knew all about Brienne's love life.

The girl shook her head. A drop hanging at the tip of her nose flew towards the wall.

'Jaime Lannister.'

'Did he indeed?' Catelyn was surprised. 'Did you like the dance?'

'No. There was no dance. I thought Jaime was making fun of me, and punched him.'

'And now you are feeling guilty about doing a wrong thing?'

Brienne was often amazed by Mrs Stark's keen insight. This was another example of it.

'No normal boy would want to dance with me. I'm ugly!' Brienne reasoned.

'You're not ugly, Brie, I've told you that countless times.' Catelyn even set aside the knife and the onion, and took a closer look at the girl. 'You are too tough on yourself. You just need to take a little more care of yourself, to rethink what you dress a bit, and to add some confidence to your manners. Boys will line up to dance with you, you'll see!'

Brienne smiled bitterly. It was very nice of Mrs Stark to try to support her, but she knew it was not true.

'I wish I could introduce you to my Sansa,' Catelyn sighed wistfully. 'She knows everything about clothing, make-up and modern styles. Maybe even too much for her own good.' 

* * *

><p>Sansa decided to spend the rest of her day in her room, not talking to anyone. It's been two and a half hours and a great success. Looked like everybody forgot she existed at all. Even Lady was at the backyard, playing with her siblings. Sandor didn't respond to her calls and didn't show up in Facebook. Drunken Jester, her online friend, was on, but responded shortly, telling he was busy, and Sansa didn't bother him further. She even called Jeyne Poole, but she was shopping together with Margaery Tyrell and her friends, and therefore, of course, couldn't chat.<p>

When there came a knock on the door, it took Sansa a moment to pinpoint the source of the noise. Nobody waited for her response though; the door flew open and Arya stalked into the room. She approached the bed and stopped, balling her little fists and looking at Sansa from under her brows.

From the moment her gesture of good will was so brutally rejected, Sansa has imagined a talk with her sister a thousand times, always coming out as a winner. So now she just sit there, waiting for the fight to start with all the composure she could master.

'Sansa, you... um... you really... really wanted to say something pleasant to Jon?' Arya asked.

The older sister was taken aback; the compusure suddenly evaporated.

'I did, actually.' Sansa felt her cheek starting to burn.

'Really-really?'

She nodded.

Arya came closer and touched her sister's forehead.

'Are you sick?'

'No!' Sansa smiled thinly. 'I really wanted to pay a compliment to make Jon feel good! If that's all you wanted to know, you can go now.'

The younger sister gritted her teeth, turned on her heels and went towards the door. But then Sansa felt a sudden pang of something, just like several hours ago.

'Arya,' she called.

'What?' Her little sister glanced at her sullenly.

'Arya, you are not a horseface. Your face is qute normal. Pretty even. When you're not mad, that is.' She blurted this all out in one go, feeling her hands tremble and her ears redden.

Arya turned back and gave her sister a long surprised stare.

'Sansa, you are _definitely_ sick,' she finally concluded.

In about fifteen minutes she got a message from unknown number.

'Sansa, this is Jon Snow. Arya told me everything. I'm sorry I was rude to you. I sincerely hope we'll be able to get along fine.'

It was so nice and unexpected, and so unexpectedly nice Sansa didn't know what to write in response. Therefore she just pressed the 'call' button and talked to her brother until dinner time.

* In canon Asha is older than Theon, but in Westeros High Joffrey is not a son of Cersei and Jaime either.


	5. Be stylish, be yourself

_Author: **Akara**. Idea belongs to: **Redcandle17**. Translator: Perelynn._

* * *

><p>Brienne tossed and turned all night, and finally reached her desicion. Mrs Stark was sure her daughter could help. '<em>Sansa knows everything about clothing, make-up and modern styles. Maybe even too much for her own good<em>.' Last week Brienne tried to help Mrs Stark's daugher, and yesterday the girl even said hi to her. Perhaps she'd be inclined to do Brienne a favour in return?

Walking the corridor, Brie tried to move confidently, but her traitorous knees didn't cooperate, making her legs wobble. Thrice the girl nearly fell face-down on the tiles before she managed to catch up with Sansa, who was walking ahead. Brienne has never asked anyone of something like that before. The first time is said to be the scariest.

She caught up with Sansa and paced along, still pondering the soundness of her idea.

'Hi.' Sansa noticed her.

'Hi,' Brienne answered, licking her lips which suddenly became very dry. 'Sansa, would you mind doing me a favour?"

The younger girl has clearly got wary, but her reply was polite.

'I'll do my best.'

'Sansa, you are very pretty and stylish. You know all about fashion,' Brie said, terrified at the sheer stupidity of the words that were leaving her mouth. 'And I... it's all Greek to me. All this clothing and stuff. Um. Could you help me?'

'Help with what?' Sansa asked with a forced smile. Brienne thought Jaime Lannister would certainly comment that only euthanasia could be an appropriate help here.

'Um, help pick some new clothes and other things. I don't know. Whatever you girls use.' Brienne stopped short. It seemed to her each word she uttered was crazier than the last.

'Oh. I see.' Sansa said. She looked like she just got an invitation to go watch the aliens after school. Then, suddenly, she seemed to notice somebody in the crowd, and said quickly: 'Ok, let's go shopping. Are you free today after 4 PM?'

'Yep,' Brienne blurted, astonished. Only then she remembered her volunteer work in the kitchens.

'Okay, let's meet in 'King's Landing', at the entrance.'

Sansa excused herself hurriedly and scurried towards the caf, diving between students.

_I can skip one day in the kitchens for this,_Brienne decided. She found herself leaning against the wall, full of hopes and almost happy.

* * *

><p>'Sandor, wait!' Sansa was breathing heavily. Tiled floors are not exactly designed to make running on high heels an easy job.<p>

'What do you want?' The boy's usual bluntness and sullenness now seemed to be paired with the complete lack of desire to look Sansa in the eyes.

'Why are you avoiding me?'

'I wouldn't be standing here if I were,' Sandor muttered.

'But you didn't sit with me at lunch yesterday, and you didn't answer the phone after school, and I didn't see you on Facebook either.' Last night, Sansa even thought it felt a little lonely without the tons of awful videos he used to send to her.

'I had practice after school.' Sandor chose to omit the lunch and Facebook.

She was going to press the point further and ask what stopped him from calling her back, when they were interrupted by Joffrey and his gang, walking by.

'You two look great together!' Baratheon shot at them. 'You'd make a perfect cast for 'The Beauty and the Beast!'

Joffrey's friends guffawed happily, him louder than anyone. Then they disappeared behind the caf's door.

'And you'd be taken to star in 'The Omen' with no casting at all!' Clegane rasped after him. Without much hope to be heard, though.

Sansa giggled. Her fingers brushed against Sandor's palm. Clegane winced and gave her a sharp glance. Then he lowered his eyes, his good cheek and neck turning the most peculiar shade of red.

It dawned on her.

_He is ashamed_, she realized. Ashamed of how he behaved at the Autumn Ball, ashamed of what he told her. Maybe both.

'Would you sit with me today?' she asked tremulously.

'Uh-huh.' Sandor's fingers gave her hand a squeeze, firm, yet gentle.

They entered the caf, holding hands.

* * *

><p>Sansa wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of going shopping with the girl she barely knew, and an awful sloven at that. But she needed to talk to Sandor so badly she didn't had the time to refuse politely. It was easier to agree. She even called Mother after classes, but Mrs Stark spoke about Brienned most highly, expressed her joy the girls had became friends, and asked Sansa to do her best to turn her new acquaintance into a beauty. The girl promised to spare no effort, yet the idea remained questionable at best.<p>

Before leaving, Sansa tucked pretty much all the make-up stuff she had into a huge purse she almost never wore. Still, she had run out of space sooner than out of little tubes, round boxes and crystal bottles. If she was going to work on Brienne's style, she was bound to experiment with the make-up, she reckoned. Playing a stylist was Sansa's favorite game, though her list her 'returning clients' was rather short, featuring only Jeyne Poole for now.

The first thing Sansa did in 'King's Landing' was to take her new friend to her favorite boutiques. But for some reason Brienne looked uncomfortable and refused to try on any clothes picked for her. When Sansa lost her patience and asked directly what was the matter it turned out the older girl barely had the money for one outfit. Sansa did her best to ensure Brienne it was okay and turned towards the economy class shops, usually avoided by mile. The clothes sold there were not the same of course... but in general sense they were quite nice.

Elegant dresses, skirts and blouses Sansa loved so well fit Brienne as umbrella fits a fish. The girl went on and on stubbornly, determined to try all the possible combinations. She made Tarth, silent and meek, squeeze herself into variety of outfits, do and undo buttons and zippers, walk back and forth along the fitting rooms as if on the runway. The only result was Sansa's own deepened belief that the mankind had indeed evolved from monkeys. Some of its specimen anyways.

She set aside the striving for elegance and grace, and switched to plan B - activewear. Knee-length jeans skirt along with the white-blue hooded jacket made a perfect fit. The skirt's big pockets largened Brienne's narrow hips somewhat, and the alluring cut of the jacket gave an illusion of fuller breasts.

Sansa also allowed the older girl to make an experimental try on the tight jeans adorned with rivets and silver strand (unlike the one-size-fits-all shapeless nightmare Brienne tried to sneak into the fitting room). The jeans made a nice fit (which was to be expected, really, considering whose choice they were), but Sansa forbade to buy them. Pants may be regarded as unisex clothing but to look womanly one needs dresses and skirts.

'Nice underwear,' Sansa giggled, slipping into the fitting room and noticing Brienne's pink panties with happy piglet's faces on them. The older girl didn't reply but gave the jeans a rather shart tug, making the fabric crack. 'I picked a cute sundress for you. And a sweater.'

Tarth finally got rid off the jeans and the jacket. Sansa handed her the hanger with the new outfit, silently horrified by the sight in front of her. Instead of a bra Brienne wore some ugly short top, also pink and decorated with the same piglets. Well, at least she understands the concept of matched underwear, Sansa told herself. That's something.

'Brie, let's have a detour to Victoria's Secret. I have a discount card with them.'

'What's this?' Brienne asked indisctintly from the sweater's depth.

'Um, it's a lingerie boutique.'

'Laced underwear?' the older girl asked in a terrified voice, peaking out of the V-neck.

'Various underwear,' Sansa replied evasively. 'Laced included.'

'Expensive, too, I bet.'

'Womanhood starts with lingerie!' Sansa proclaimed firmly, repeating the phrase she read somewhere.

Brienne gave her own panties a desperate look, as if happy piglets could advise her on the matter.

'Ok, let's give it a try,' she agreed reluctantly.

* * *

><p>The girls left the 'King's Landing' sporting a bunch of shopping bags and happy smiles. Brienne's wardrobe was about to be enriched with a big-pocketed jeans skirt, grey-blue summer dress, a couple of tops and sweaters in light blue, dark blue, peach and yellow-green hues, a coral jeans high-collar buttoned dress and a pair of ballet shoes (despite all Sansa's efforts, she had zero success in putting her protegée on high heels without jeopardizing her health and the lives of the people nearby). They also got a pair of tights, powder and tonal cream, as well as a new set of lingerie. By the time the girls reached 'Victoria's Secret' Tarth virtually ran out of money, so Sansa offered to lend her some. Brienne mumbled at length but in the end agreed to borrow the necessary amount; she didn't know Sansa had decided to never ask for those money back. The problems of the Tarth family, financial issues included, were well-known to her by then.<p>

'Where do you prefer to go, to my mom's or my dad's?' Brienne asked. Her parents were divorced and lived separately, and she shuttled between the two houses unable to decided where she felt better (or more needed). She seemed to spend more time with her Dad, though.*

'That's up to you,' Sansa shrugged. 'We will only need a well-lit room with a washroom next to it, to wash away the make-up.'

'Mom's it is, then,' Brienne decided.

The neighbourhood Brienne's mom lived in didn't look rich, though it was clean and neat. The lawn in front of the house could use a good cut, the walls were asking for a good peel and a fresh paint. It was neat and cozy inside, but the sofas and couches were old and tattered, the varnish on cupboards had cracked, and the floorboards squeaked dolefully when being stepped on.

There was a photo on the coffee table: a tall broad-shouldered man, freckled, blond and rough-featured; a charming slim fair-haired woman and four children, two boys and two girls. One of the latters looked a lot like Brienne, only much younger.

'I thought you were the only child...'

'I am..,' Tarth replied, taking the photo away from Sansa's hands. '..now. My siblings have died when I was six.'

'I'm sorry,' Sansa whispered, patting Brienne's wrist compassionately. The older girl looked at her with big blue sorrowful eyes.

'That's okay. I caught a flu then, and stayed home, while Mom took the youngsters to someone's birthday. A big truck hit them on the intersection, right from behind, where the children sat. They died, and mom survived. She spent several weeks in the hospital, and then had a long course of the anti-depression therapy. Dad never found it in himself to forgive her, so they divorced. The judges gave me to him, because mom was not in a right state of mind at that time. They don't speak now, and never even ask about each other. Dad is making good money, but doesn't help her. She refuses to take money from me, but I usually spend my pocket money to buy something for her. Like groceries or some stuff from convenience store, sort of thing.'

Sansa listened silently, unable to think of anything to say. And she believed _her_family had problems!

'Ok, let's go upstairs,' Brie said. 'Only, please, don't tell anybody. I never did. Except for your mom...'

Sansa promised not to tell. The dreadful secrets not to be revealed seemed to be showering on her nowadays.

Brienne's room had the same unpretentious look like the rest of the house. There were two posters on the walls: some football player on one, the Rammstein band on another.

Sansa emptied her purse down to the sofa and started experimenting.

Brienne looked her best with light blue and grey eye shadows, and stunning with the arrows in the corners of her eyes. Personally, Sansa always loved the arrows, but her own eyes were the wrong shape for them.

Experiments with black and brown eyeliners showed both look good. Same went for mascara. Eyebrow picking proved to be a real torture for Brienne who looked depressed at the news the procedure had to be done regularly. Tarth's big lips were a real challenge. Well, puffy lips are everything any girl could dream for, Sansa told her, and boys seem to find them attractive. The shape though... Sansa preferred not to enlighten the older girl on just how non-standard it was. The lip balm, a foundation of any natural-looking makeup, made Brienne look fish-mouthed; Sansa rejected it, opting for the lusterless shades of caramel, apricot and coral, to go with the color of Brienne's skin.

All the makeup that worked Sansa gifted to her new friend.

When it came to the hairstyle, the younger girl went as far as taking the scissors and cutting Brienne's hair at the back of her head, transforming the shapeless mound of hay into the passable chin-grazing bob. However, the hay seemed resistent to any kind of fan or spray, so Sansa took the simpliest way and asked Brienne to wash her hair and then gelled the unruly strands and dried them, brushing the hair from right to left. The result was quite nice and a little perky, like the haircut Sansa saw in the last number of the Cosmo magazine.

There was the sound of a closed door downstairs. The floorboards squeaked; after a moment, the stairs did the same. The door to the room opened unknocked.

'Oh. Sorry, hon, I thought you were alone.' At the door stood a small woman, her clothes baggy, her greyish hair tied in a ponytail, her shoulders stooped, her face tired, her eyes dead.

'Mom, this is my friend Sansa!' Brienne told her. Sansa found herself pleased with the statement. Weird, just this morning she couldn't imagine to have anything in common with this styleless unkempt sloven. 'Sansa, meet my mom, Mrs Tarth.'

'Nice to meet you,' the corner's of the woman's mouth rose slightly. 'I'll go cook you girls something.' And Mrs Tarth closed the door.

'She never noticed,' said Brienne bitterly. 'Forget my looks, but this is the first time I brought a friend home!'

'Is your mom always like this?'

'Yep. She was even worse before. Now she at least is not crying every five minutes. But she lives in some kind of parallel world. My dad is not a nicest person, but he at least cares about me. Talks to me, too.'

Sansa stood there silent, batting her eyelashes helplessly. What bitter, unfair lives people have! And she managed to feel unhappy because of Arya ruining another of her dresses, or Dad presenting her with a doll on her birthday despite the fact she didn't play dolls for years, or Mom scolding her for another unnecessary expense, or Joffrey leaving her for Margaery... Where does it place Sandor, maimed by his own brother, with his father doing everything to cover it, or Brienne, who suffered through the death of siblings, divorce of parents, indifference of her own mother?

Sansa was distracted by her cell jingling in her purse. It was an sms from Sandor. 'During practice coach Bywater said I suggest better plays than that fag Tyrell. Ha ha!' The girl smiled. It's so funny, Sandor being sure Loras is a gay, but jealous of him nonetheless. And he snaps at anybody who mentions he is a member of the Knights football team, but gets furious when Tyrell is called the future best quarterback, as he is the best _now_.

'Who was it from?' Brienne asked, and then bit her lip. 'Sorry. It's not my business.'

'Sandor Clegane,' Sansa replied. Brienne called her her friend, and friends shouldn't keep secrets from one another.

Unexpectedly, Tarth didn't start raging and lecturing her again. Just asked softly:

'Are you still friends with him?'

'Yes.'

'And you are not repulsed by his looks?' Brienne's blue eyes were full of concern. Sansa could see the answer was very important for her.

'To be honest... his scars frighten me,' Sansa said frankly. 'But this is not a reason to turn my back to Sandor.'

'Thank you,' Brienne said suddenly.

'What for?' the younger girl asked, surprised.

'Don't know,' Brienne shrugged. 'For being so cordial, I guess.'

* * *

><p>Sansa was pacing back and forth in the washroom. Yesterday she tutored Brienne about how to wear the new clothes and makeup to the best of her ability; but she still suspected the older girl would find a way to get something wrong, so she made her promise to meet before classes.<p>

When the door opened letting Tarth in Sansa got her worst fears confirmed.

'Well?' Brienne looked very pleased with herself.

Blue eye shades layered her eyelids, rivaling the coral of her dress. The mascara fell off the right eye, spotting the cheek. On the left side, it glued eyelashes together into thickets. The layer of powder and tonal cream on the face was so thick it threatened to crack and fall off. The only thing that looked almost perfect was the haircut.

'It's awful!' said Sansa honestly. 'Wash it off immediately! I hope you took the makeup bag with you?'

'I did,' Brie said, taken aback. 'But why?'

The younger girl turned the water tap open and dragged the older one towards the sink.

'Your eye shades do not match your clothes, you mascara is ruined, and your face looks like it's been plastered!

'But I have freckles!' Brienne exclaimed on the verge of tears.

'You should be proud of them! It's very appealing, stylists all say so. There are even special pencils to draw freckles. And you are given them by nature!'

Brienne blew her nose and washed her face.

Then Sansa dragged her into one of the boothes, away from curious eyes, set her on the toilet seat and got to the makeup.

'My backpack is heavy because of all these bottles,' Brienne complained while the younger girl drew the arrows in the corners of her eyes and applied the mascara.

'Being beautiful is a demanding job. When you learn to do the makeup and match it with your clothes, you'll be allowed to carry only the necessary stuff.' Sansa never thought she'd like the role of a strict teacher so much. 'Did you get the spare tights?'

'Yep.'

'Good. Never forget them when you wear a skirt. School desks are death to them, so it's necessary to carry a spare pair. It's _mouvais ton_to wear the torn ones.

Sansa's eyes followed Brienne while the older girl was trying to glide smoothly instead of waddling. Then she went to her class, feeling deeply satisfied.

* * *

><p>It was Wednesday, and Brienne had the 'Ethnic and Morality' elective as her first class. She walked to her desk stiffly, feeling the curious gazes and hearing whispers. Nobody said anything to her face however. Only Asha Greyjoy shouted her name and gave her an approving thumb.<p>

Jaime Lannister butted into the auditorium as the bell rang. Limping, he went to his chair, gave Brienne an inspecting look, put a water bottle on the table and took his seat.

'You look awesome,' he told her casually, digging into his backpack.

'Thank you,' she replied cautiously. When no taunt came, Brienne asked: 'Is this all?'

Jaime took his eyes off his backpack and looked at her.

'What did you expect? 'The title of Miss Universe would be an easy win for Brienne Tarth now'? Sorry, cannot say that.'

The girl bit her lip, angry at herself, and turned away from him.

Lannister dug out a bunch of pens, notebooks and textbooks, and finally extracted the thing he was after - a pillbox. He took one pill out, threw it in his mouth and gulped some water to wash it down.

'What's this?' Brienne demanded anxiously, taking the pills out of the boy's hands. He grunted and made a pointed movement with his fingers.

'This, Brie, is a drug of sorts. It's called painkiller. They say you get used to them, and the doze should be amplified with time.' Lannister face, forever charming, now looked like a happy cat's muzzle.

'What do you need them for?'

'You might have heard that I used to be a promising quarterback in our football team, until I got a knee injury. Somehow, everybody believes this story has ended when the doctors forbade me to play. Well, it hasn't . My knee still hurts like hell.' Jaime took the pills from Brienne's fingers in brisk movement, and threw them into depth of the backpack.

'I'm sorry...' Brienne said, wide-eyed.

'Looks like we're having some unusual sun activities this week,' Lannister muttered. 'It's the second day in a row I'm hearing 'sorry' from you. That's something new, eh?'

Miss Melisandre R'hllor entered the room. She greeted the students and announced the theme of the day. Her gaze stopped on Brienne for a second, and the girl thought she saw an approving nod.

'By the way, Brie,' Jaime whispered to her ear. 'Good thing you changed your bra at last. Now I know you have breasts.'

* * *

><p>'So, we have resource X and resource Y. The price of both resources is known. The marginal product for both is known. What is the price that maximizes the profit for the enterprise? Brienne?' Mr Petyr Baelish sat leaning on the table and stroking his narrow beard.<p>

'I don't know,' the girl said pathetically, reading the words she just wrote on the board for the tenth time.

'Do you remember what the marginal product equals to in money terms?'

'No,' Brienne whined.

'Get back to your seat, Miss Tarth,' sighed the teacher.

The girl put the chalk down, wiped her hands with a wet cloth and went back to her desk. Her marks were good overall, but the damn economics stubbornly stayed out of her grasp.

'Tarth changed the clothes, but not the brains!' Cersei Lannister said, in whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Brienne gritted her teeth, stooped and took her seat.

Jaime gave his sister a little kick under the desk. Cersei looked at him, surprised. But Mr Baelish didn't give them a chance to argue.

'Miss Lannister, I must ask you to behave. So, class, who's ready to come here and solve the problem?

Janos Slynt raised his hand and walked to the board. Anyone else who dared make such a remark from their seat would earn from Mr Baelish a request to solve the problem the taunted student didn't cope with. Anyone but Cersei Lannister. She was sitting in the front row, her skirt short, her blouse cut low, her eyes showering the teacher with coy glances. Mr Baelish was rumoured to have his own business, a quite profitable one. They said the only reason he tought in school was because he loved pretty girl students.

Brienne sat there, gritting her teeth and barely holding her tears.

'Hey, Brie!' Asha Greyjoy whispered to her from the next row. 'Don't bother! If you cannot be like them, be like yourself!'

Easy for her to say. She is the best gymnast in the school, and her looks never give her troubles. Even her aquiline nose is considered a charming feature, not a drawback. And she doesn't go wanting for admirers, though her fame has a queer edge to it.

Brienne snorted bitterly and turned away. But Asha wasn't going to leave it at that.

'Brie!' she called in a couple of minutes. 'Look!'

Asha placed her notebook on her lap, tore a sheet, crumpled it and, having waited for the moment when Mr Baelish and Janos Slynt were both looking at the board, threw it at Cersei. The paper lump bounced off the golden head with a dull 'plop'.

'Ouch!' squeaked the Lannister, turning.

But by this time Asha was sitting with her notebook in front of her, looking innocent, except for a happy grin and a challenging gaze.

'Greyjoy, you naughty bitch!' Cersei squealed, throwing her pen at Asha.

'You bitch!' the girl parried nonchalantly, picked the pen from the air and gave it a look. 'Hm, thank you for the pen. I like it!' And she started doodling something in her notebook.

'You!' Cersei jumped to her feet. Jaime grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to sit back.

'Girls! What's the meaning of this? What do I hear? What do I see?' The teacher frowned threateningly. 'I ought to make you leave the classroom and report everything to Mr Baratheon!'

'Mr Baelish, I'm very sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!' Asha jabbered, her face innocent, her elbows propped on the desk behind her to make her breasts stand out. The laces of her top strained noticeably.

'Ahem. All right, Miss Greyjoy, I forgive you this time,' the teacher managed to tear his eyes off her bosom with some difficulty. 'What about you, Miss Lannister?'

'I'm sorry, too. And won't do it again,' Cersei said through clenched teeth.

Mr Baelish nodded and turned back to the board and Janos Slynt.

Lannister sent Greyjoy a hateful glance over her shoulder. Asha waved to her light-heartedly with the pen, and then gave Brienne a wink.

* * *

><p>*Yes. Another off-canon thing. But what is this comparing to the transfer of the characters into the American high school world?<p> 


	6. All that football

_Authors: **Akara** and **Redcandle17**. Traslation: **Perelynn**._

* * *

><p>Renly was engrossed into an animated discussion with his friends. Loras sat next to him with a bored expression on his face. Brienne knew Baratheon recently got infatuated with street-art, and now, most likely, was talking about the new projects and patterns. Tyrell was a football player, and that was it. In fact, the girl herself liked the art only because Renly liked it, and would gladly chat with Loras about the sports news. But she didn't interest Loras as a person to talk to, and Loras didn't interest her as a guy.<p>

For some reason today Brienne didn't fancy the idea of joining people who won't notice her anyway. So, she turned in a different direction. Towards Sansa's table.

Sandor Clegane sat buried into some car magazine. The girl was playing with her stew unenthusiastically, and dangled her high-heel shoed foot under the table.

'Hi. Can I join you?'

'Brienne!' Sansa beamed. 'Of course! Take a seat, please.'

Brienne lowered her tray on the table and sat on the chair next to Stark's. Sansa introduced her to her friend.

'Um, is your table always that lively?' Tarth asked cautiously.

Sandor didn't even look up from his magazine. Sansa gave him a sideways glance and nodded. Brienne wondered how they even ended up together. They look complete opposites, and almost never talk.

'I heard Knights are playing against White Guardians from Barristan Selmy's school on Saturday.' Brienne decided to contribute into the non-existent conversation, choosing football is a topic she was comfortable with.

Sansa widened her eyes in a grimace of magnified horror, letting Brienne know she was walking a dangerous ground here.

'Who didn't hear that?' Sandor's head finally snapped up. 'Knights the stinkers against Guardians the morons. The first game of the year when they can show off in front of another school.'

_Is he always like this_? Brienne wondered. Or maybe he just didn't like Selmy's school team?

The best way to win anyone on your side is to pay them a compliment, Mrs Stark told her once. Sansa often says nice things to people. And she seems to be the only person Sandor likes.

'You are an awesome player,' Brienne said to Clegane. 'I think you really have a drive there. I mean, in rising team spirits.' Sandor's face split into a grin. 'And you are such a fast runner! Only...' Brienne was aware she should stop at that, but the 'say a nice thing first, and then talk about the downsides' scheme she had picked up in some psychology magazine has turned on independently and was now operating on autopilot. 'I've heard you tend to make plays up on a fly, instead of following the ones the coach gave you. I mean, improvisation is good, but you cannot just suggest something completely new, the team will be lost. You also need to pass more... '

'What do you know about it?' Sandor sneered. 'You're trying to talk about football like a bloke, but you're a girl! You girls just want everything to look pretty, and all the players to run around the field shirtless! Go give your smart notions to the club of Gay Anonymous.' He gave a short nod in the direction of Renly's table. 'Maybe they won't notice you lack something between your legs.'

Brienne reddened.

'Having something between one's legs doesn't guarantee having something between their ears!' She snapped. 'You are a perfect example of that! Quarterbacks are _meant_to pass, and you always look like nobody will be able to wrench the ball from you...'

'Brienne! Sandor! Please, stop! Please, don't argue!' Sansa shrieked in a quivering voice.

Clegane and Tarth eyed each other with contempt. The older girl decided she had nothing more to do here and stood up. The boy did the same.

'Guys!' Sansa pleaded. 'What are you doing? Why do you treat each other like this?' She batted her eyelashes helplessly and began to cry.

'Sansa...' said Brienne and Sandor together, both rushing to hug her. From the opposite sides, of course.

Brienne took the younger girl's hand she was covering her face with. Sandor buried his nose into the auburn curls at her temple guiltily.

'You won't argue again, will you?' Stark asked, sobbing.

They had to promise not to. They did, through the clenched teeth.

'You are the best friends ever!' Sansa beamed, hugging them both. 'I have lemoncake. Let's cut it into three pieces and eat it together!'

* * *

><p>Sansa and Brienne found their seats in the fifth row, next to the passageway. The aisle seat remained unoccupied, as everybody preferred to sit in groups, and nobody wanted it.<p>

'Hey!' A tall golden-haired boy claimed the seat without asking. He was so handsome! Sansa smiled at him excitedly. She remembered his name: Jaime Lannister, the brother of Cersei who was the cheerleader captain!

Brienne made a face and turned her back to him. (The boy was sitting right next to her.) She is so weird. Sansa wouldn't mind switching places with Tarth, but thought it tactless to suggest it.

Before the match started the White Guardians cheerleader team gave a performance. They clearly put their heart into it, but Sansa could see Westeros High cheerleaders would eat them for breakfast. Finally they were done with their tricks and verses. The spectators wailed and whistled, and the Cersei Lannister's team entered the stadium.

The boys somersaulted, the girls were shouting verses, danced and cartwheeled. The guys threw the captain and Asha Greyjoy up, the girls sprang into the air, did the splits at the highest point, and landed right into their partner's arms. Then Asha went up again, alone this time, somersaulted in the air, and, being her head down, did the split before going gracefully down to the boys' waiting arms. The show finished with a three-layered pyramid. On the top, leaning on the hips of two girls, there was Greyjoy again, brilliant as ever.

Then the Knight team cheerleaders left the field, smiling and waving to the crowd. Sansa noticed the look Jaime was giving his sister.

'Cersei was awesome!' she told him, looking around Brienne's shoulder.

'She is the best,' Lannister replied without taking his eyes off his twin.

It wasn't exactly true, the best gymnast was Asha Greyjoy. But Cersei is the captain, Sansa reasoned, she comes up with all the tricks and movements, she creates the whole program.

Sansa sighed dreamily. She wanted to be a cheerleader so much! It's so awesome! But Mom would never allow that. Two years ago she even took Sansa off the ballet studio the girl attended since she was five, because the headmistress, Miss Mordane, started to take her, along with other best students, to various competitions held in other cities. Mom said it was time for her daughter to study, while her dancing skills are already high enough. That was cruel; Sansa cried for days and even asked Dad to talk to Mom, but the latter was adamant.

Now the girl was watching the cheerleaders, thinking that her skills would suffice to ask for a place in the team. But... unfortunately, all she could do was dream about it.

Finally, the football teams appeared in the field, the Knights clad in black and yellow, the White Guardians wearing white and silver uniform. The ball was kicked off, the first half had started.

Sansa has never been much of a football fan. She went to matches to see the cheerleaders perform, and because everybody went there. Usually she would be bored throughout the whole affair, and spend her time discussing the football players with Jeyne Poole. But today, against all expectations, the girl couldn't take her eyes off the field. Or off Sandor?

Sansa saw him breaking fiercely through the crowd of Guardians with the ball in his hands, running unbelievably fast and dodging wildly, pushing ahead while his fellow teammates were blocking other Guardians from getting on him, flying head-first into the opponent's end zone, and finally jerking his fists up and bellowing 'Touchdown!'. She saw him instructing other players during the huddle and then knocking the Guardians off their feet trying to take the ball from them when it was their turn to attack. Sansa found herself admiring Sandor with a stupid dreamy smile on her lips.

Brienne and Jaime were absorbed into a heated argument about the game, but Sansa was glad she was forgotten. This way nobody bothered her.

When the Knight attacked again, Sandor was almost in the end zone, but then one Guardian threw himself at his feet, trying to get his ankles, and other three lined up in front of him, blocking the line. Clegane jumped up, leaving the first opponent to plow through the grass empty-handed, and then went to the guy in the center of the line, landed on his back, pushed off it and flew into the end zone. Inertia made him to roll several times on the ground with the ball pressed to his chest.

'Touchdo-o-o-own!' wailed the stadium along with Sandor who jumped to his feet. Knights were running across the whole field to hug him, and soon in the White Guardians end zone became a noisy and crawling mess.

'A hotshot!' Jaime approved whole-heartedly, when the shouts and the applause calmed down a bit. 'Especially the hot part,' he added, quite sincerely.

Sansa reddened. It was such a pleasant thing to hear! She felt so proud as if it was her who just got applauded by the whole stadium.

And Jaime was right, she thought. Sandor did look hot in the field. The football uniform, the guards making his big shoulders look enormous. And who cared about his face now, hidden behind the helmet? He was hot by virtue of being angry, confident and strong. He was hot for everybody to see!

The break was announced. Knights were leading 24:16. Jaime wandered off somewhere, but Brienne and Sansa preferred to stay in the passageway next to their seats.

'Renly and Loras do not part company even for the match.' Brienne said sourly, looking at the change room door where the boys where standing. Tyrell was wiping his wet brown hair off his brow. Sansa remembered their date, the one and the only, remembered the Autumn Ball, and felt sad, too. Loras sometimes approached her still, chatted about some nonsense, sometimes kissed her cheek for everyone to see, but never ventured any further.

Jaime reappeared during the third quarter, bringing three sodas: one for himself, two for the girls. Sansa thanked him politely, while Brienne mumbled something incoherent, opened the can and played with it, never taking a drink.

The White Guardians' play got more lively after the break. They scored and earned a couple of touchdowns. Knights were still leading, but the difference was now very small, staying around three points.

Before making the next attack Sandor gave his team a play during the huddle. Knights lined up for the offense. As soon as the whistle came, the center, Merryn Trant, passed the ball to Sandor, who lunged forward. His brother Gregor, appointed as a fullback, followed him, scattering the Guardians who were trying to stop the quarterback. He was so tall the opponents could hardly do anything, breaking against him like waves against the rock. But then one Guardian leaned forward, grabbed the older Clegane's knees and threw him over his back. Gregor rolled on the grass, raised to his feet, but then, instead of running after Sandor, he jumped at the Guardian who assaulted him. And Sandor got buried under the other Guardians' bodies.

The judge whistled and went to separate the fighters. The ball was lost, and the penalty was gained. Dishevelled Sandor shouted something to his brother. Gregor replied. Sandor said something else, knocking at his helmet with his fist unambiguously. Gregor sprinted towards him and threw him off his feet. The fight started anew. The boys were hitting each other with such zeal that couch Bywater and the teammates couldn't find the nerve to approach them at first.

Finally the brothers were separated and dragged away from one another. Sandor's helmet flew aside by this time; the black hair that usually covered the scars, now wet and stacked together with sweat, got thrown back, displaying the burned side of his face and the head with the hole instead of one ear.

Both Cleganes were still roaring at each other, trying to get free from the hands of teammates who were holding them. Sansa couldn't hear the words, but had no doubts they were angry and probably quite bad. The boys were taken off the field, and in five minutes the rumour flew around the stadium that the Vice Principal Stannis Baratheon was now talking to them in person.

* * *

><p>Stannis sat in the last row of the empty stands, watching the darkness descending on the stadium.<p>

Damn school. Damn students. Damn teachers.

Sandor Clegane has been the Vice Principal's personal headache for ages, but today he got treated unfairly, and Stannis couldn't do anything about it.

When the thug brothers were taken behind the stands where Stannis and Davos waited, the older was showering the younger with such dirty insults the Vice Principal barely restrained himself from giving him a handback. It wasn't only the bad language, though in Gregor's speech only presositions were civil enough to be uttered in public. But the older was really making an effort to sting deep: he remarked on the younger's looks, on his popularity, on his Stark girlfriend. But Sandor only responded to the ones that concerned him as a quarterback.

'You're a moron! Your schemes are idiotic!' Gregor bellowed.

'It was I-3! I-3!' his brother snarled. 'The basic attack scheme! Fullback covers the quarterback! What can be simpler, you fucking dumbass? You are a moron for not getting it!'

The Vice Principal tried to talked some sense and fear into the boys, but they hardly listened, and kept switching back to insulting each other. Several times Davos had to interpose between them to prevent the fight from starting again.

After another stream of insults from Gregor's part, featuring '_your ginger bitch would never give you a second glance if you were not a Knight_', Sandor threw his helmet on the ground.

'Fuck you. Sideways. With a chainsaw.' Sandor added some more, which was enough to get him suspended from school for a week, but Stannis, who was already silently siding with the younger Clegane, chose to overlook it. 'Along with the rest of Knights. I'm out of the team!'

He turned away and headed towards the changing rooms. The Vice Principal made a sign to Davos and Adam Marbrant, the coach's helper, not to stop the guy. Gregor was returned to the field and even played as the replacement a couple of times.

In the end Knights won with a trifle two-point difference. Coach Bywater was saying Loras Tyrell was a good quarterback, but not as good as Sandor Clegane. It would be better if this well-wisher kept his silence. His words made the members of the urgently called-in board meeting stick to one of their most idiotic and useless decisions. It's time for the stick, not the carrot, they proclaimed in unison. (Stole Stannis's own phrase at that, mind.) If the younger Clegane decided to put on a show, he's about to find out nobody would run after him waving a handkerchief ready to wipe his nose. The quarterback should understand he is not to be indulged; the fits like the one he had thrown are to be punished regardless of his sport achievements. As a result Gregor was suspended for three days, while Sandor got a weekly suspension with the following week of detentions. And the Headmaster Cressen approved! The Vice Principal Baratheon objected until his throat got dry, trying to prove such measures to be unfair, but the only ones who supported him were Davos (no surprise there) and Miss Melisandre R'hllor (quite a surprise here, in fact). Even Jacelyn Bywater didn't say a word against it, though he intoned endlessly that Sandor was a powerful quarterback and without him the team would have hard times during the matches.

* * *

><p><em>Five days later..<em>.

It was very bad to skip school and Sansa had never done it before but this was important. Ever since the game and the fight, Sandor hadn't said much whenever she called him and he didn't sign into AIM. Sansa needed to see him in person. Once she made the decision, she waited a couple of days until Gregor returned to school. He scared her and she didn't want to run into him at his house.

She couldn't very well tell her chauffeur Hullen to drive her to Sandor's house, so she let him drop off at school as usual then she snuck off campus. She had never used the public transportation system before but she'd printed out a map last night. She had to wait a long time for the bus and she was frightened all the while on it, but it let her off a few blocks from where Sandor lived. It wasn't a badneighborhood; there was no graffiti or broken windows or decrepit cars parked in the driveways. But the houses here were much smaller than what she was used to and most of them didn't have pools and _none_of them had a tennis court.

Sansa only considered the possibility that Sandor might not be home when she rang the doorbell. She was already turning away and trying to remember which direction the bus stop was in when he opened the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Sansa said, trying not to be hurt by his unfriendly greeting.

"Fine. Come in, I guess."

Sansa followed him to his room. There was a full black garbage bag in the chair at the desk and no other place to sit so she perched on the edge of his bed. Two of the walls had been painted black and a collection of knives and swords decorated one of them. Clothing, paper, empty soda cans, and candy wrappers were scattered on the floor. Sansa did not like Sandor's room at all but she tried not to let it show.

"It's dreadfully unfair of them to suspend you for longer than Gregor when he started it. But maybe if you didn't quit the team…"

"No! That's what they want. I've had it. I'm done with their bullshit." He hit a button on his stereo remote and loud music filled the room. The singer sounded very angry, though the actual lyrics were unintelligible to Sansa's ears.

The music was too loud to talk over, so Sansa just sat there. How was she to cheer him up if he wouldn't let her say anything? She crawled further up the bed and curled up beside him.

Sansa wasn't entirely surprised when he kissed her. Then he was on top of her and he was kissing her harder than Joffrey ever had and it was overwhelming. She didn't exactly dislike it but that made it even scarier. His hands were _everywhere_. Sansa didn't know what to do; she didn't want what she was certain he wanted but she didn't want him to think she didn't like him either.

"I'm thirsty," Sansa said when he freed her mouth to attack her neck.

"What?" Sandor looked, well, Sansa had no words for that look.

"May I please have something to drink?"

"Uh, okay. Water or soda? There's beer and some vodka too."

Sansa was mildly scandalized. "Soda, please."

When Sandor left to fetch her soda, Sansa immediately muted his awful music. She picked up the trash off the floor and deposited it in the litter basket hidden in a corner, and then she drew up the shutters and opened the windows to let in sunlight. That was better.

Sandor returned with a two liter bottle of soda, a microwave pizza, and a glass. He poured her a glass of Coke and then drank straight from the bottle. Sansa glowered at him in disgust but he was oblivious.

"What will you do now?" she asked.

Sandor shrugged. "Watch _Jerry Springer_."

Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I meant, with your life, now that you've quit the football team."

"Take up begging on the street. My life is clearly ruined now."

Why did he have to be so mean all the time? Sansa wasn't going to let him kiss her again if he wasn't nicer. "You'll have to study more," she told him. "The teachers won't let you get away with not doing homework now that you aren't on the team. We can do our homework together and then go the mall all the time. It'll be so much fun."

"I'm going to get a job."

"A job?"

"Yeah. To buy a car and stuff."

"You can't drop out of school!"

"I'm not dropping out. I'll work in the afternoons and on weekends."

Sansa frowned. That didn't sound like there would be much time for him to spend with her. Maybe he didn't want to go out with her. But then why had he kissed her? Was Brienne right? If so, coming to his house had been a terrible mistake. She made a show of looking at her watch. "I should go."

"You're better off skipping the whole day and telling them you were sick than showing up four hours late today."

That made sense and Sansa couldn't think of another excuse to leave soon. Her hands were greasy from the pizza though. "May I please use the bathroom?"

Being in his bathroom felt stranger, more intimate somehow, than being in his bedroom. Sansa hurriedly did the things she needed to do, including repairing her lip gloss. When she exited, Sandor called to her from the living room.

He was putting in a DVD. Sansa hoped it wasn't anything too gruesome or scary. Her hopes were dashed when the movie started. It wasSaw number something. "Can't we watch something else?"

"Well, there's _The Hills Have Eyes_."

That was even worse. The trailer for that one had given her a nightmare. Sansa knelt by the stack of DVDs and began to sort through them. They all looked awful until "_Beauty and the Beast_!" There was an entire collection of Disney movies. They must have belonged to Sandor's sister; she couldn't imagine him or his brother watching these.

"Sansa…"

"Please." She gave him a pleading look. "The other movies will give me bad dreams."

"Fine," he grudgingly agreed.

Sansa had intended to keep a safe distance between them on the couch, but she was so pleased that Sandor had let her watch _Beauty and the Beast_that she didn't try to pull away when he put his arm around her. She found herself singing along, forgetting where she was, but when she realized and looked at him, he wasn't laughing at her like her sister Arya usually did. He looked…affectionate. Brienne was wrong. He did like her; he wouldn't look at her like that if he didn't. Sansa snuggled against him.

Gaston was leading the villagers to attack the Beast's castle when Sansa felt Sandor's hand moving up and down her leg. He didn't try to put his hand up her skirt or anything; he just kept stroking her calf. It was very distracting.

The next movie on the DVD was '_The Little Mermaid_', and Sandor said last Hallowe'en Sansa looked just like Ariel. When the four hours the girl was supposed to spend in school have run out, he announced he'll see her out to the bus station.

He retrieved the big black garbage bag before going, the one she noticed on the chair in his room. His football things, he explained, dropping the bag on top of the garbage can at the side of his house.

"You shouldn't throw it out," Sansa advised. "You might change your mind."

"I'd burn it if…"

If he wasn't afraid of fire. Sansa considered offering to burn it for him. Burning all the things that Joffrey had given her and the photos of them together and the things she'd written about him had been very satisfying. But she thought Sandor was making a mistake getting rid of his football stuff and she wouldn't be a very good girlfriend if she helped him do that.

When she was at home, Sansa pulled the sweaty, grass-stained football jersey out of her bag and put it safely away in her box of special things. Then she curled up on her bed with her computer and signed into AIM to chat with her internet friend DrunkenJester.


	7. Good intentions

Author: **Akara**. Idea belongs to: **Redcandle17**. Translation: **Perelynn**.

* * *

><p>Something needed to be done. Sansa was sure of it. Sandor is her friend... maybe even more than a friend. And he is not well, whatever he says. The problem is to help him she needs to get through the wall he built around himself, and she couldn't. She was unable to come up with any ideas on what to try next; Brienne did her best to support her but still couldn't be called the wisest of advisers. Sansa needed somebody older, more knowledgeable and experienced, but the girl couldn't even think about asking her mother or father for help. Dad is all into politics these days, and he is not exactly a SME in terms of relationships. Mom would never approve of Sandor as a friend for her daughter. Sansa tried to ask Jon, but the youth admitted he hadn't dated anyone yet and didn't know what to recommend her except for staying as patient and heedful as she was now. She would talk to Robb, too, but he was bound to tell Mom. She tried to seek council from her internet friend, Drunken Jester, without mentioning any names or details, but he didn't produce anything useful either.<p>

That was the moment when Sansa remembered something. When her parents felt a strain in their relationships, they went to a councillor. Here is the answer!

The girl wasted no time before sneaking out of her room and tiptoing into her parents'. She rummaged through the visit card box on the mirrow shelf, found the card with the Greek sign Ψ on it and the name 'Mister Luwin. Therapy. Marriage councilling.' There were address and the phone number on it, too.

'What are you doing here?' came an indignant girl's voice.

Arya! Always sticking her nose into other people's business!

'I... I was looking for a lipstick to match my new dress,' Sansa lied, hiding the visit card behind her back.

'Come on, you have plenty of lipsticks, you never borrow Mom's!' Arya covered the distance between them in two easy steps, twisted Sansa's hand and, despite all the squealing and resistance, took the visit card from her.

'Mister Luwin? I knew you needed therapy!'

'Give it back!' Sansa shouted, reaching for her sister, but she evaded easily.

'Relax,' Arya snorted. 'Jon told me to be nice to you. I'll listen to him. I won't even ask why you need Mister Luwin. But you're going to trade something for the visit card.'

Sansa agreed reluctantly. The little git will surely ask for something she wouldn't want to give.

'That big doll with brown hair and blue dress.' Arya said.

Her sister was thunderstruck.

'But you don't play dolls!'

'You neither. But Dad still gives them to you.'

'O-okay, but why?'

Arya looked at her archly.

'Promise you won't tell anyone.'

'I promise.'

'That doll looks like me. Almost the same height, and the hair of the same colour. If I want to leave my room without anybody knowing, I'll put it under the coverlets with only the top of the head to be seen. Everyone will think I'm asleep, while I can do what I fancy!'

* * *

><p>Mister Luwin's office was a big, well-lit room with a number of cozy armchairs and sofas. In one corner there were decorative glass tubes filled with liquid full of multicoloured babbles, while in another stood an aquarium with a school of lazy fish inside.<p>

The elderly councillor greeted the girl warmly and offered her a seat. Sansa lowered herself on the sofa opposite to the big portrait of Sigmund Freud smoking his pipe. Mister Luwin moved his chair to level his face with the girl's. He knew her. Many years ago Mom took her here to cure her fobia of darkness and big black dogs.

'So, Sansa, what do I owe the pleasure? Your call surprised me, I must admit, as well as your request to keep this conversation a secret from your parents.'

'You're not going to tell them, are you?' Sansa's heart plummeted. If Mom finds out she went to Mister Luwin she'll be able to think of something; but if Mom finds out _why _she did it...'

'Councillor ethics demands to keep all the conversations private, girl. It would be very unprofessional of me to inform anybody about what happens in this room. Even more so: it would be illegal.' Mister Luwin's wrinkled face radiated warmth, Sigmund Freud was smoking his pipe approvingly, and Sansa felt her concerns melting away.

She told everything and was now waiting for him to advise her.

'Why do you think you should help this boy?' the councillor said instead.

'He is my friend!' The answer seemed obvious to her.

'All right. But are you sure he needs your help?'

She hesitated.

'Of course he does! Something is going on with him, something I don't understand. But I can tell he's going down a slippery slope.' She used her father's words. The corners of Mister Luwin's mouth went up a little.

'Sansa, I can see your heart is in it. But tell me: if your friend was asked if he needed help, what would he say?'

'He'd say no,' Sansa admitted honestly, and then added hastily: 'But it's because he is angry and rude, not because he doesn't really want help!'

'And now, let's imagine for a minute he doesn't,' said Mister Luwin, very seriously.

Sansa opened her mouth, but couldn't utter a word. Sigmund Freud on the picture seemed to shook his head.

'You mean Sandor shouldn't be helped?'

'You see, girl, we councillors know one thing for a fact. The one who doesn't want help, cannot be helped. I listened to you carefully. Maybe I'm mistaken, for I don't know your friend in person, but I think you picked good words describing him. He's going down a slippery slope. His life was tough, that's true. But I've seen many people whose life was tougher. Moreover, life gave him chances: football, your friendship, probably other ones I don't know about. He lives in his father's house, not in a shelter, he goes to a good school, he doesn't go hungry or begging. If he wanted he could turn his life the way where he'd get love and respect, with friends and pretty girls around him. He was into sports successfully; his burns wouldn't hinder his popularity if not for his rudeness and lack of polite behaviour. But he doesn't do anything to get it - on the contrary, he pushes away everything that could help his success. There is a saying about people like him. It goes 'he's his best enemy'. He doesn't like himself, and is unlikely to fully like any other person.'

'So, Mister Luwin, do you mean I shouldn't help Sandor?' Sansa said, disappointed.

The councillor smiled sadly.

'You can waste all your energy trying to help him and never prevail. You're very young, your life lies in front of you, and you may be throwing it away right this instant.' Mister Luwin gave her a probing look. 'But you are not going to follow my advice, are you?'

Sansa was silent. But the grey-haired man didn't seem to need her reply.

'We all were young once,' he sighed. 'We all believed in wonders. But the councillors are reputed to have a motto. 'Follow them, catch them and make their lives better.' I guess the people of my trade never get older. If there is at least one chance out of hundred somebody would get better with our help, we'll try to help them. I warned you about the consequences, Sansa. I respect your decision. It will be difficult for you, and, whatever happens, you should tell yourself: 'I did everything I could and slightly more.' Whatever you offer, your friend will only take what he wishes to take. You shouldn't despair about it. And don't get too much into it. Remember your life, your interest, your perspectives and possibilities. Don't miss your own chances.'

'So, you don't mind if I help Sandor?' Sansa asked happily.

'Well, I didn't manage to talk you out of it; so I'll try to help.' The councillor gave her a conspiratorial smile. 'Though it means quite a responsibility for me. Yet again, your Sandor is at age when something can still be done. If he were any older, I'd try to persuade you to drop this altruistic project. But he's a teenager, his personality is still moulding, and this can be affected. Now he needs to study and play sports. This includes learning how to deal with people. From what I see, Sansa, you are an important person for him. He is attracted to you though he is afraid to form any ties. (Sansa thought Sigmund Freud gave her a wink.) Outline what you want him to be, give him clear directions to follow. When he makes a mistake, gently let him know, and when he makes good decision, remember to encourage him.'

Sansa and Mister Luwin talked about Sandor some more. The girl left the councillor with her heart full of hopes. She could hardly wait for the next week to start.

* * *

><p>When Brienne asked Sansa for her manicure kit, the younger girl couldn't help but gasp. A couple of broken nails was her friend's smallest problem. Elbow brazed, wrists bruised, knuckles bloodied. Not counting a missing tuft of hair and bruises covered by clothes. It was a miracle the tights survived. Not a single hole on them.<p>

'What happened?' she asked, alarmed.

'Trifles. Stood up for one of the junior boys.' Brienne moved her tray away and attacked her nails with the nail scissors. 'Gregor Clegane was on him with his buddies. Sandor, your brother is an awful jerk!'

'I know. I'll kill him some day.' He answered, dead serious.

'Sandor!' Sansa exclaimed. 'Don't even think about it! I don't want you to ruin your life over him! You'll go to jail...'

'Fuck my life. I won't rest until this maniac is dead.'

Sansa opened her mouth, batting her eyelashes helplessly. Brienne felt the scissors drop on the table. She knew the Clegane brothers were not exactly fond of each other, but this? She wondered if he came up with this long ago, or recently, after the match with the White Guardians.

'Sandor, please,' Sansa started dolefully.

They never knew where the conversation would take them (though Brienne suspected nowhere pleasant) but presently their table was approached by Jaime, who dropped his tray opposite to Brienne's and took the chair next to Clegane.

'Hi!' Lannister said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air.

'Hi,' the girls answered in unison.

'What do you want here?' Sandor growled at him.

'Oh, my demands are quite reasonable. I seek only a chair and some space to place my tray.' Jaime smiled charmingly, but Sandor was not impressed.

'There are plenty of other tables and chairs around. Get lost.'

'Sansa, your friend could use some of your sensibility.' Jaimed winked.

'Well, _you _could stay away from my friend if you don't want me to punch your pretty face, Lannister!' Sandor stood, apparently ready to act on his words.

Brienne sighed. Looked like she was going to, for the second time in one day, have to fight over somebody with a Clegane.

'Sandor, stop this instance!' Sansa was on her feet, too. 'Jaime is now sitting with us. Don't bother him! And, please, mind your manners!'

'Ha ha. While you served the sentence, Clegane, the power has shifted!' Lannister slapped the other boy's shoulder. Sandor waved his hand off angrily.

'Fuck you,' he grunted, sat back on his chair and buried himself into the car magazine.

Jaime took his seat, too, and moved the tray closer.

'Getting yourself pretty, Brie?' he threw the girl a sly glance.

Brienna looked at him sullenly, not knowing what to expect. Last week Lannister took a habit of joining her and Sansa at their table. Both girls noticed lunches were more cheerful and engaging in his presence. He was undeniably polite and gallant towards Sansa; Brienne, however, could be treated with a compliment as likely as with an unkind joke.

'The whole school is talking about your heroic deeds.' Jaime continued. 'No bloke dares to confront Clegane while you are said to nearly beat the shit out of him. If Davos hasn't dragged you off, the git would go straight to the hospital.'

This, of course, was not true. Mister Seaworth did, indeed, interfere with the fight, but if he appeared mere minutes later, it would be Brienne who'd be taken to the hospital.

Sandor gave the girl a short glance, examining her, and then returned to his magazine.

'Did you?' Sansa asked, astonished.

'Of course not. Jaime is making this up,' Brienne said, putting the manicure set back together. Then she finally started eating.

'I am not!' Lannister snorted. 'Embellish a little, yes. All for your sake, mind. I want you to be popular.'

'Dubious popularity,' Brienne muttered.

'Dubious popularity is what Clegane is going to get when everyone finds out he was beaten by a girl. The older Clegane, I mean,' Jaime added, glancing sideways at Sandor.

'Brienne, how did you manage?' Sansa wondered. Tarth would never think a beauty like Stark could look at her that admiringly.

'Brie's secret lays in jogging every morning. And then doing twenty chinups,' Jaime replied in her stead. 'Most blokes cannot manage that!'

'Oh,' Sansa said, impressed. Even Sandor lifted his head to have another look at Tarth.

'Not every morning. One day out of three it's twenty eight chinups. The workload should be stressful for the results to show,' Brienne said honestly.

How does Jaime know about her daily routine? She goes jogging at about 5 AM. Even her neighbours are either sleeping or just starting stretching in their beds.

She gave Lannister an enquiring look, but he only smiled at her, forever charming.

'Let's go outside after lunch,' he suggested. 'Better to spend the rest of the break outdoors while the warm days still last. Soon they'll be over, robbing us of the pleasure of getting the grass stains all over our pants.'

'Why so interested in nature all of a sudden, Lannister?' Sandor bristled. 'Like our company too much, do you?'

'Ha ha. Brienne and I are still to choose the theme for our 'Ethics and Morality' project. And I hope fresh air will make Tarth's brains work faster.'

* * *

><p>The Vice Principal Baratheon was pacing vigorously in his study, with his hands locked behind his back. Davos was standing silently in the corner, looking innocent. Who would think from the look of this man he had a conviction?<p>

'Take a seat, I say. Don't just stand there like a statue. No, like a coat rack!' he grumbled.

'I did my time sitting, Mister Baratheon,' Davos replied meekly.

Right. Q.E.D. Stubborn devil, feigning submissiveness. Honest though.

'Tell me, Davos. Did you hear that after today's fight Headmaster Cressen came up with the decision to outsource a security agency to guard the school and watch over campus?'

'Yes, Mister Baratheon.'

'So, what do you think?' Stannis stopped pacing and pinned Davos with his eyes.

'I believe this to be a reasonable idea, Mister Baratheon.'

'Why?'

Davos Seaworth took his time to answer.

'Our security guard, Ilyn Payne, has been with the school for decades, no doubt; but to be frank he's way too old to manage a bunch of youngsters. And he cannot be in several places at once, which is sometimes required. And he speaks in raspy whisper. I've heard he lost his voice trying to talk some sense into students. Westeros High would look bad if we lay off a man who had given the school his best years. But we can try to bargain with the agency and have him back as a school guard, only in different uniform.

'Stark Security Agency uniform,' Stannis made a face. 'Headmaster Cressen has already chosen the agency as well.'

Would the Headmaster choose any other agency, the Vice Principal wouldn't be so enraged. But Starks... always these Starks! The are the luckiest! They always get the best!

'This is one of the best agencies in town. And reasonably priced,' said Davos calmly. 'Which is good for the students from poor families, as the security fees will be the same for everyone.'

Stannis gritted his teeth. He knew Davos was right.

'Do you think it's for the best?' he asked again, just in case.

'Yes, Mister Baratheon. It will be beneficial for our school.'

* * *

><p>Jaime and Brienne were leafing through their notes under the nearby tree. Sansa watched them, smiling. Tarth was positive they owed Jaime's constant presence to his desire to get high marks for the 'Ethics and Morality' project, and his intention to push most of the work on his partner's shoulders besides. But Sansa believed Lannister to be interested in Brienne much more than in the project.<p>

Meanwhile, Sandor looked like he's interested in nothing at all, except for his car magazine!

The girl gave him a reproachful look, then another. The boy didn't even notice them though - he sat with his back to her. She knew from experience there was no point to talk to him or ask him to put the magazine aside.

Without fully knowing what she's doing and why, Sansa traced his spine with her fingers, from the small of his back right to the neck covered with thin black hair. Sandor made some noise, much like a sigh, and threw his head back.

'What are you doing?' He rasped.

'Don't know,' Sansa answered honestly. 'Do you like it?'

'Yep.'

She repeated the movement. This time her fingers lingered on his neck, massaging it.

Sandor moaned something unintelligible. Sansa put both hands on his shoulders, continuing her ministrations.

'Sansa,' he whispered, turning his head and rubbing his good cheek against her hand. His eyes were closed.

The girl pondered what she should say or do in return.

'Your shoulders are so strong!' she blurted, unable to think of anything better.

Sandor laughed.

'They are to get stronger still,' he said. 'Unloading trucks is a better exercise than football.'

Sansa frowned. The boy found a job in some shop, and was so happy about it as if he scored the trickiest goal in a match. This must be the moment Mister Luwin was talking about. She needs to let Sandor know what she wants her friend to be.

'Sandor,' she said with all the assertiveness she could master, 'I would be much more pleased if you got back into football and exercised there.'

The boy jerked upright and turned to give her an angry, offended look.

'Really? How so?'

'B-because I believe it will be better for you.' Sansa stuttered.

'Oh really?' Sandor sneered, which caused a piece of bone on the burned side of his face to surface more than usual. 'And I believe it's because having a freak as a friend is less shameful for you when the friend is a knight! But I don't care! I won't get back into that fucking team! Never!'

Then he stood up, snatched his backpack and stormed away.

* * *

><p>Sansa was wandering around her room aimlessly. She already finished her homework, played fetch with Lady, went to check on Arya who was having fun with her new doll, hiding it under the coverlets. The doll's dress already sported several grass stains on it, and a couple of holes from Nymeria's teeth. Sansa always knew her younger sister and her half-brother, Jon Snow, were very close. What never occurred to her was that as soon as she comes to good terms with the latter, she'd automatically get the affections of the former.<p>

Looking for something to do, Sansa pulled out her needlework from one of the drawers. Mom often gave her embroidery kits, and the girl was even good with the needle, but usually she didn't really have time for it. Mrs Stark was an excellent cook, tailor and knitter, but she was rarely seen in the kitchens during the past few years, almost never knitted, and was only sewing something when it was time for Hallowe'en costumes. The modern world hardly gives a woman a chance to do the work she is built for, she was saying with a sigh.

The draft for the embroidery kit showed a black dog's head with a small orange bird fluttering nearby. The bird looked like the canaries Mister Varys Spider, Sansa's literature teacher, kept in his classroom. She was almost done with it, she only had to finish the background and the leaves of some bush in the corner. The girl liked this work more than others she had, though she didn't know why. Maybe the reason was the affection the big and angry dog was looking at the helpless little bird with.

A sound from the laptop signified a new Skype message for her.

'Mrrr? My sweet Jonquil! Are you online?'

She didn't have to guess who that was. Drunken Jester of course. Jonquil was Sansa's nickname on the web. That was the name of the character from an old song; Sansa always called herself Jonquil when she didn't want to be recognized, and didn't mind other people calling her so. But Jester's constant meowing noises and over-sweet manners were downright annoying. She often hinted, politely, that she'd appreciate if he'd stop; but Drunken Jester preferred to be deaf to the hints, and Sansa didn't want to tell him directly, afraid to hurt his feelings.

'Hi,' she replied. 'What are you up to?'

'Just came home from partying with friends. Found three cans of beer in a fridge. Now I have an open can on my table, with bag of chips to go with it. What about you, my sweet Jonquil?'

Sansa didn't like Drunken Jester's love towards spirits, but her reasonings about healthy lifestyle were about as effective as her hints about his manners.

'I'm doing some needlework. Cross-stitching,' she wrote.

'Mrr! My pretty Jonquil has skillful hands! What are you making, sweety?'

Absent-mindedly, Sansa browsed her Facebook needlework community page where she posted the photo of her works, found the last version of the embroidery, and sent the link to Jester.

Only then she realized her mistake. Drunken Jester often asked for her real life contacts, and she always refused to give them. They became online friends after one of the quarrels she had with Joffrey, when Sansa was nervous and desperate. She poured her heart out to a complete stranger, someone who sent her a friend request. The stranger listened her out and supported her. She often spoke to him after, sharing her little secrets, talking about things she never dared to talk to anyone else. She always kept her identity secret, however. She didn't want anyone who knows her in person to know what this Internet person knew.

'Mrr! Very nice,' Drunken Jester wrote. 'And now I know my sweet Jonquil is really Sansa Stark.'

Of course he looked up the name of the sender. And went to her page.

The girl banged her head at the keyboard, whining. Lady, who was sleeping next to the bed, looked up and wiggled her ears anxiously.

In a minute Sansa received his friend request. Dontos Hollard. Looks like it's that senior boy whom everybody calls Dontos the Fool. He shares the table with Renly Baratheon and plays in school theatre.

Oh well, Sansa decided. It was her fault of being so indiscreet. She has no right to offend the person over it. She pressed 'Add to friends', sighing deeply.


	8. Jealousy and admiration

_Author: **Akara**. Idea belongs to: **Redcandle17**. Translation: **Perelynn**._

* * *

><p>Brienne shot a sneak glance around when leaving home to go jogging this morning. Jaime's yesterday insight into her morning routine bothered her. The quiet neighbourhood Brienne's father lived in was still sleeping. The dawn was creeping on the streets painting houses grey and pink. One building ahead the girl saw a grey Peugeot parked across the road. She thought she had seen it there before. Her neighbours rarely left cars on the road though. They put them into garages or backyards. Brienne frowned, closed the garden gates, turned her back to the car and jogged away. She usually went this way anyway.<p>

It is known that Lannisters only drive Peugeot. Its trademark is a lion, and Lannisters are crazy about lions. The golden king of animal kingdom prances on the Lannister College banner; lion statues adorn the entrance to their mansion and the main staircase. They even call themselves lions! Well, Brienne found the comparison fitting, actually. Lannisters' golden manes and haughty manners made them look really similar to the animals. Jaime drives red Peugeot, Brienne remembered, and his sister has a golden one. But their father Tywin is so rich they easily can have more than two or even three cars in their garage.

Usually Brienne did a circle around two blocks, coming back from the direction where the car stood. Now, when she made to the end of the street, she turned around the corner, but didn't take the usual path. She jogged along the parallel street instead, heading back towards her house.

Brienne reached the intersection, calmed down her breath, pressed her back to a fence and started moving in small steps. Luckily, the car was parked near the house surrounded with lush, elegantly trimmed bushes. The girl dived into the shrubbery, ending up in the middle of someone's frontyard, and dropped onto the dew-covered grass. While crawling towards the car visible through the holes between the branches and leaves, she contemplated the usefulness of the sport outfits and their advantages over blouses and skirts Sansa loved so well.

When she was against the Peugeot door, Brienne stopped breathing and moved the leaves aside for the better view. The driver's seat window was down, and she could hear soft sounds of music. She could also see a leather-clad left hand supporting a golden-haired head.

Doubts aside, Brienne tensed and jumped out of the bushes. She flew over the narrow sidewalk, grabbed the door handle with one hand, tugging madly, and used another hand to snatch the driver, drag him from inside the car and drop on the road.

The boy turned out to be Jaime, of course, making the last doubts Brienne had evaporate quickly and irrevocably. He growled, turned and crushed her down.

'What the hell are you doing?' he shouted when he saw it was her and loosened his grip slightly.

'What the hell are you doing?' Brienne cut him over and tried to get on top of him, but Jaime kicked her attempt off successfully.

The girl's next move was to grab the collar of his jacket and put her legs around his waist. The boy tried to wring free, but no avail. Arms around each other, they went through the bushes landing on the neighbour's lawn.

'Idiot!' Jaime huffed trying to put her hands behind her head.

'Pervert!' Brienne hissed at him, wiggling her right hand free and, by sheer inertia, giving him a black eye in the process.

'Ouch!' Jaime wailed. 'I didn't do anything to you!'

'Why were you stalking me, you maniac?' Brienne had always known boys only needed one thing from girls, but never imagined such an ugly one as herself would ever become a subject to stalking.

'I wanted to give you a ride to school!' It was obvious Jaime had just come up with it.

'At 5 AM?'

'Not 5 AM. 5:30.' The boy's charming smile looked slightly lopsided because of the bruise on his cheek. 'How do you know, maybe I was worried I'd be late and you'd slip away on that jalopy car of yours!'

'It's not true!' Brienne shouted indignantly.

'Prove me lying!'

Brienne had nothing else to say. She glowered at the boy and took her legs off his waist.

'So, do we have a deal? I'm taking you to school today, and back after the classes?'

'Okay,' Brienne ventured hesitantly. The whole business looked very fishy to her, but suddenly she wanted Jaime's words to be true so badly she couldn't refuse.

'Wonderful!' Jaime let go off her hands, got to his feet and helped her up. 'I'll drop back in at quarter to eight. Need to go home now to change the car... and the clothes.' He glanced at his jeans and jacket, dirty and grass-stained.

'And don't you even dream of escaping me on that junker at 8:30.' He winked at her. 

* * *

><p>'Japanese hokku, also known as haiku, typically is composed of three metrical units of 5, 7 and 5 moras respectively.' Mister Varys Spider was saying. '17 syllables, or moras, total.'<p>

In the corner of the classroom, between the window and a big ficus plant, was a cage with the teacher's canaries. The birds were chirping and flapping their wings, flying between perches.

Watching them, Sansa remembered her needlework. She was slightly surprised when the thought brought back not the memory of the unpleasant revelation of her identity to Drunken Jester, but, for some reason, of Sandor.

Usually Sansa just loved literature classes, but today she found herself unable to concentrate. She stopped her fruitless attempts to listen to the teacher and started watching her classmates instead.

Joffrey Baratheon was picking his nose with his pen and examining the snots afterwards. Ew! How could she ever loved him?

Jorah Mormont seemed to be unable to sit still: sometimes he listened, wide-eyed, to what Mr Spider was saying, sometimes he bit his pencil, sometimes he scribbled something in his notebook, and all the time he fidgeted. He looked like he was ready to do a couple of circles around the classroom if he was given a chance. Sansa knew he had a stroke of inspiration and was writing a poem now. She was ready to bet he'd have five or six hokku in his notebook by the end of the class. He always wrote poems themed along with the class theme. During the literature classes, when Mr Spider announced the theme, Jorah even managed to passably imitate the style of the poetry they studied.

The boy should have been senior by now, but last year he got infatuated with some girl named Lynesse. Her family was very rich; the girl didn't turn Jorah down, but he was expected to present her with expensive-looking flowers, take her to restaurants and movies every there days and such. Naturally, his pocket money was soon exhausted, and he started to work after school. His marks went down, and he had to repeat the year. Lynesse ditched him.

Watching Jorah made Sansa ever more worried about Sandor. Jorah was mocked and called names, and he had no friends to speak of. Sansa sometimes talked to him and wrote him notes during classes. She, too, loved poetry and wrote her own. Jorah sent her the poems he just wrote and she replied with her opinion and, sometimes, her own verses.

'The beauty of Japanese wilderness found its reflection in hokku,' Mr Varys was saying, strolling along the blackboard with his hands locked behind his back. 'So many delicious verses featuring seasons and times of day, nature wonders and human relationships, birds... Listen to this, class.'

Must springtime fade?  
>then cry all birds . . .<br>and fishes  
>Cold pale eyes pour tears.<p>

'This is Bashō. Here is another one about a season.'

Now in sad autumn  
>as I take my<br>darkening path . . .  
>A solitary bird.<p>

'The poet Kagami Shiko also speaks of autumn.'

The wings of passing birds  
>Singed on the red maple leaves.<p>

'Here are some lines of Fukuda Chiyo-ni, telling us about winter.'

Leaves like bird shadows  
>desolate -<br>the winter moon.

'And now we're back to spring with Kobayashi Issa.'

As the great old trees  
>are marked for felling, the birds<br>build their new spring nests.

Sansa sat completely enchanted, listening to the teacher with her eyes wide and filled with awe. Mr Varys looked magnificent reciting; even his plump body and bald head got transformed in the whirl of the moment.

Mr Spider was rumoured to have aspired for the biology teacher position. He had no knowledge in this field to recommend him however, except for being an expert in ornithology. But birds he did love, maybe even more than anything. The only creatures who could rival the birds in his heart were dragons, perhaps due to the fact they were also winged and airborne. Last year, when the class studied the Nibelungen epos, Mr Varys Spider literally drilled every tiny detail about Fáfnir the dragon into students' heads.

Despite his age, the teacher was unmarried. He also never showed any interest towards the senior girls unlike another bachelor of his years, Mr Baelish. He wasn't interested in boys either, or so claimed the nosy students who enjoyed digging out stuff like this. Sometimes Mr Varys got called a eunuch behind his back. Sansa was appalled by this nickname. Mr Spider was her favourite teacher teaching her favorite subject. What does his love for birds have to do with anything?

'The orney-freak,' Ramsey Bolton hissed from the row at her side. 'I'd gladly pluck all the feathers from his broad backside. One by one by one.'

Sansa made a face. Another outsider in their class. Only, unlike Jorah, this one was aggressive.

Ramsay's father, Mr Roose Bolton, taught biology. He always spoke so softly class had to hold their breath to make sure they didn't miss anything important. One wouldn't want to miss anything in Mr Bolton class. The teacher was dreaded by juniors and seniors alike. The sight of him dissecting frogs made everyone's skin crawl. Mr Bolton took the poor amphibia by the hind legs, pressed its knees together, making some instinct to take over and prevent the animal from moving, and then - thud! - punched an awl through its skull. And then he did some mashing movements, to 'break the brain structure'. Some students lost their nerve on that stage, some lasted until the flaying. Finally, the skin-free leg was put into acid or hooked on the tripod with electrodes connected to it.

Jeyne Poole averted her eyes, cried and even fainted a couple of times during labs. Sansa didn't find the view pleasant either, but she failed to understand what was so frightening about it. She felt sorry for the frogs, of course. The experiments like that, however, helped to save human lives. It was better than experimenting on humans. And the frog was dead anyway. It didn't feel a thing after Mr Bolton worked its head with an awl.

Ramsey always mocked Jeyne at times like this. Every now and again he put the flayed frog legs into her bag or books. Jeyne shrieked when she found them. Couple of times she ran out of the classroom right in the middle of the lab.

Ramsey was unbearable. He was always doodling in his notebooks, drawing some Frankenstein monsters, disemboweled bodies and severed heads. And he just loved showing the sketches to those who might be scared by them.

Ramsey dressed all in black and pink. His black hair was long and brittle, his lips thick, his nose pimply. One might take him for an emo, but his sadistic notions and fascination by death placed him much closer to a goth or a satanist.

Mr Varys Spider pretended he didn't hear the student's comment. Jeyne Poole looked from behind Sansa's shoulder to send Ramsey an indignant glare. The boy stared at her with his pale grey, almost colourless, eyes, licked his lips with such relish as if some lemoncakes crumbles had stuck to them, then suddenly growled and gnashed his teeth.

Jeyne jumped and dropped her pen, though she managed to caught it before it hit the floor. After that Poole hid behind Sansa and shrank, trying to take as little space as possible.

Ramsey Bolton smiled, satisfied with her reaction. Mr Spider made a scorful remark which had no effect whatsoever, and continued with his speech.

Soon after this Jeyne gave Sansa some pen with a note wrapped around it. Sansa unwrapped it, puzzled. It said: '_This is Brienne's pen. Can you give it to her, please_?'. She recognized the handwriting. Podrick Payne.

Sansa turned and looked at the boy inquisitively. He waved to her, admitting the note was from him, then loweved his eyes and reddened.

Thousands of questions exploded in Sansa's head.

'Do you know Brienne?'  
>'How do you know Brienne?'<br>'Why do you have her pen?'  
>'Why cannot you give it to her yourself?'<p>

But the scrap of paper was too small, and the questions wouldn't fit. So Sansa drew a big "?" instead. Then she sent the note back to the author, without the pen this time.

The answer came scribbled in the corner where there was still some space left.

'_Brienne fought me off G.C.&Co. Pen dropped out of her backpack. I picked it up_.'

Sansa turned again and gave Podrick a long curious stare. The boy gave up within a couple of seconds. He averted his eyes and stooped his shoulders. Podrick was the third outsider in their class. He was too shy, too quiet. He was very helpful and always ready to let others crib his essays, but he looked scared and haunted regardless of whether he was being mocked or talked to kindly.

'Our goody-goody boy joined the club of your admirers?' Jeyne Poole giggled to her ear.

Sansa smiled enigmatically.

'No. Not mine.' 

* * *

><p>Sansa and Sandor ran into each other in the corridor and went to the caf together. The boy behaved like nothing happened yesterday. His fits of anger were so common that Sansa got used to them long ago. Sandor was simply weird this way. Nothing to worry about.<p>

'My brother Robb told me yesterday Westeros High is signing a contract with our agency,' Sansa informed her friend.

'Old Payne will lose the last of his voice in fury,' Sandor guffawed.

The old school guard frightened Sansa. In the mornings, when he was standing at the main doors checking the passes, she always tried to get past him as quickly as possible. But it wasn't nice to say mean things about people, even if they were not particularly likeable.

'Look whom we have here! My sweet Jonquil!' A round-faced youth of middle height approached Sansa and put his hand around her shoulders. 'It is me, your Florian, a.k.a. Drunken Jester, a.k.a. Dontos Hollard...'

'A.k.a. corpse if you don't take your hands off Sansa.' Sandor finished for him, glowering at Dontos with such intensity Hollard jerked his hand away and hid it behind his back.

'My lovely Jonquil, I didn't know you had such a fierce friend! My friend is much more agreeable!' Dontos nodded at a tall, clumsy-looking youth next to him. 'His name is Moon Boy.'

'This is not his real name, surely?' Sansa observed.

'Well, it isn't. But everyone calls him Moon Boy, and my sweet Jonquil can do the same. Right, Moony?'

The tall boy nodded. He was staring at the great chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Apparently the nickname was fitting; the boy did had some sort of otherworldy look about him..

'Sansa, who is this bugger?' Sandor asked angrily.

'Dontos is my friend,' the girl replied firmly. The real life talk with Dontos turned out to be an annoying and tiresome event, but they used to be so very close when chatting on the web. 'We knew each other in Skype for ages, and yesterday we found out who we were in real life.'

'You should have asked me. I'd tell you at once Dontos the Fool is a moron and a freak, real or web alike.' Sandor growled. Sansa was surprised when Dontos didn't seem to take offence.

If Clegane wasn't near, or if he was nicer to Drunken Jester, Sansa would try to politely end the conversation and say goodbye to her online friend. But in the circomstances such behaviour would look weird or even offending. Sansa gathered what was left of her manners.

'Please, stop this,' she told Sandor. 'Dontos is a good person, and I don't want you two quarrelling with each other.'

'It's not us quarelling with each other. It's me quarelling with him!' Clegane snorted, turning away. But he didn't try to pick on Hollard any further.

Dontos and Moon Boy accompanied Sansa to the caf. While they were standing in the line, Drunken Jester was doing his best to show the aptness of his nickname. Most of his jokes, however, were entirely lost on Sansa, who was smiling at them only to be polite. Sandor lapsed into brooding silence and treated Dontos as if he was not there.

'Would my lovely Jonquil honour her humble servants, Dontos and Moon Boy, by sharing a table with them?' Hollard bowed courteously.

'I thank you very much, but I am already expected to sit with others. Maybe some other time.'

Sansa let out a sigh of relief when Dontos and Moon Boy finally left for Renly's table. Well, at least Hollard was not purring in real life, like he did in Skype. Sansa was grateful for this small mercy. 

* * *

><p>Jaime and Brienne were already eating. Every now and again they leaned toward each other, speaking softly and and giggling wholeheartedly.<p>

'Oh! Jaime, what happened to your face?' Sansa gasped, when she took her seat opposite to Lannister and saw the black eye he was sporting.

'Brienne's soft hands,' the boy narrowed his eyes wickedly and gave Tarth a wink. 'And I will never forget those legs around my waist! Awww...'

Brienne reddened but couldn't help laughing.

'I think we missed something,' Sandor grinned at Sansa.

The girl giggled and started at her lunch. Then she remembered.

'Oh, Brie, I nearly forgot! I have something for you.'

She pulled the pen Pod gave her out of her purse.

'My pen! Where did you get it?' Brienne was surprised. 'I thought I'd lost it!'

Sansa did her best to look enigmatic.

'I was asked to give it to you by Podrick Payne. The boy you saved from Gregor Clegane yesterday. He found the pen at the spot where your heroic deed took place, and picked it up to return to the rightful owner!' Sansa announced, imitating the tone you hear in a fantasy movie when all the good characters are rewarded and the lovers set off towards the sunset, holding hands. She offered the pen to Brienne on open palms, like a sword.

'Um. T-thanks,' Brienne stuttered, taking the item. 'Why didn't this.. Podrick... give it to me himself?'

'He's way too shy,' Sansa waved her hand. 'And you clearly made an impression on him. Enamoured him, even. And he gets even more shy at that.'

'I wish he was impressed by Gregor Clegane's fists instead,' Lannister snorted. 'This might make him sign in for a self-defence class.'

Sansa bit her lip, trying not to smile. Just like she suspected, Jaime was jealous. Which meant his interest towards Brienne ran far beyond the 'Ethics and Morality' project. 

* * *

><p>That afternnon Drunken Jester, talking to Sansa in Skype, invited her to the school play. Her evening was free anyway; now that Sandor had a job he was not available to chat even online. So Sansa accepted the invitation.<p>

In the auditorium they encountered Renly's company and some other students Sansa never met before. Loras was very surprised to see her there; he came to greet her, but then walked away quickly. Was it because Renly called for him, or because he found out Sansa was there with Dontos, the girl couldn't say.

When the lights were off, and the curtains went up, Sansa realized her vision of theater formed by cultural outings with Mom was rather narrow.

It was quite challenging to figure out what was happening on the stage. The multicolored lights were going on and off, some people were running around waving pieces of fabric and shouting words which might have had deep philosophical meaning if only Sansa could manage to decipher it. Sometimes people ran into one another and dropped on the floor, and then someone else stood over them talking complete gibberish with a straight face.

Sansa took a sneak peek around. All the spectators were watching the show open-mouthed, unable to take their eyes off the stage. Apparently she had missed something, Sansa decided. Feeling bored, the girl tried to discern Dontos and the Moon Boy under that heavy makeup and horrible rugs, but didn't prove much good at that either.

Finally the hideous extravaganza was over. The actors lined up on the stage, bowing, while their meagre audience applauded madly. Sansa thought this was the end, but then the actors disappeared behind the curtains, and the lights went off again, except for a small yellow beam in the middle of the stage.

Two figures sommersaulted into the light from the opposite sides. The boys were wearing black clothes, clinging to their bodies, and white gloves. Their faces were painted white, with huge eyes and broad red smiles that almost reached their ears. One of them was Dontos, another one Moon Boy. They were mimes!

The boys were so lithe, touching and funny Sansa even felt bad for her earlier regrets about coming here.

In the end of the pantomime the audience went into a hailstorm of clapping and whistling. Sansa even jumped on her feet when applauding. 

* * *

><p>She was waiting for Dontos at the auditorium doors, like he asked. The boy sneaked on her from behind, grabbed her shoulders tightly and laughed loudly for no particular reason. His breath smelled of wine.<p>

'So, how did you like it, my sweet Jonquil?

'Very much!' Sansa squeaked, trying to free herself from the embrace. 'I liked your performance the best!'

'I'm so glad I made my lovely Jonquil happy! Mrrr,' Dontos purred. 'Perhaps she'll even honor her handsome Florian with a kiss?'

'Um,' Sansa was not ready for this sort of things. 'Will Florian release me from his tight embrace after?'

'I swear it!'

He reeked of alcohol. Sansa hold her breath to stop herself from feeling sick, and planted a quick kiss on Dontos's cheek. She dreaded what might come next. What if Dontos wouldn't want to stop at a kiss? Or to stop at such a kiss?

But the boy just let her go obediently.

'Why did you drink today?' the girl asked while they were walking the school corridor together. Her own guess was that the actors had celebrated the successful play.

'We always take a shot of some heavy stuff before show. Vodka or whiskey. And after the play we finish the leftovers.'

Sansa heard many tales about how talented actors ended up as drunkards. If they indeed drink before each show and after... no surprise there.

'Did you like the play?' Dontos asked.

'To be honest, I didn't really understand what was happening.' Sansa was grateful for the dim light in the corridor making it hard for Dontos to notice her burning cheeks. She wanted to lie and make herself look more knowledgeable about arts than she really was, but it would be not right.

Dontos laughed good-naturedly, and hugged her around the shoulders. Sansa secretly wished Sandor was here. He wouldn't allow Drunken Jester to touch her. She was glad she already called Hullen, and he was supposed to arrive to the school gates any moment now.

'Most people who are new to this say so, my sweet Jonquil. And those who say otherwise are just afraid to look stupid on unaccomplished. But I'll tell you a secret.' Dontos was whispering to her ear now, this breath stirring her hair. 'When you are watching a play such as ours, turn off your logical thinking. Just watch and let the pictures in your head unrevel and take their own course. At some point, they'll start making sense to you. Your interpretation may be totally different from the one of the boy sitting next to you, or the girl sitting in front of you. But it doesn't mean it's wrong. It's just yours. And theirs. All the interpretations have an equal right to exist. This is what art is all about, my lovely Jonquil!'

Sansa was astonished. It was so beautiful, so poetic, so vivid! In one fleeting moment her vision of Dontos shifted from rather obtrusive drunken weirdo to the insightful and talented artist.

Hullen was waiting for her at the gates, leaning on the hood. Drunken Jester expressed his regrets about missing a chance to walk Sansa home, kissed her hand gallantly and even opened the car door to help her in.


	9. A soulmate

_Author: **Akara**. Idea belongs to: **Redcandle17**. Translation: **Perelynn**._

_**Note from the translator**: I have a favour to ask of you. If you're reading these series, please leave a comment. Not necessarily a lengthy one, 'like' or '+' will suffice. I just need to have a feel of my audience. Thank you!_

* * *

><p>Once again, Dontos offered Sansa to join them at their table. Once again, she refused. Now the girl sat with her head propped on her hand, and watched Renly's company chat and laugh merrily. Jaime and Brienne next to her were engrossed into a whispering conversation, sniggering and exchanging conspiratorial looks. Sandor, as always, sat leafing through his car magazine.<p>

Deep inside Sansa wanted nothing more than to arm herself with mashed potato and send it flying into the boy's forehead, just like Arya did to her when they were little. But, of course, she couldn't do anything of this sort. A girl must remember her manners.

Maybe, she is doing something wrong? Mister Luwin said if you don't like how another person treats you, try to analyze your own behaviour first.

It was frustrating she and Sandor had so little in common. They had almost nothing to talk about. On the other hand, Sansa reasoned, she never asked Sandor about his interests. This car magazine, for example, he buys a copy every month and reads it through and through.

'Anything interesting in this one?' she asked him, trying to look genuinely curious.

It took Sandor a long moment to realize she was speaking to him.

'Well...' He looked embarrassed. 'Um. Nah, not really.'

'Still. I'd like to know,' Sansa assured him.

'Well. It's mostly about various cars, car industry news, new models, tires and oils... all tech stuff.'

Sandor looked pleased to talk about it, though cautious not to overload her with details. But soon he stopped, and was now sitting and eyeing her dreamily, as if mesmerised.

'And you're trying to pick something for yourself?" she prompted, hoping to feed the dying fire of conversation with a new log.

'I... guess,' he managed.

'So, which one do you like best?'

Sandor blinked and averted his eyes.

'I'll decide when I make enough money to buy it,' he snapped.

'I bet you have favorites!' Sansa said, hating to give up.

'What do you care if I do?' Sandor cut off sharply.

Sansa could only open her mouth helplessly. Coming up with an answer was beyond her capabilities at the moment.

'What do you mean, Sandor?' Jaime butted in. 'Of course, she cares! Your friend is curious what you will be giving her a ride on!'

Clegane glowered at him.

'I need a car not because I want to give somebody a ride! And Sansa is not my girlfriend!' he spat furiously and then stopped short. Without looking at her, Sandor turned a page noisily and buried himself into the magazine. And Jaime didn't even say 'your girlfriend'.

Sansa felt tears swelling in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.

'I don't need any rides from you,' she said firmly. 'If you think that's the way to charm a girl, think again. You need common grounds for this. You and I have none. And there are tons of interesting things in the world apart from car magazines. Art, for example!'

At the last word of her speech, Sansa got up, clutched her tray and went to the table where Dontos sat. She wouldn't look at Sandor, but she heard Jaime whistle, and she saw Brienne give the boy a reproachful nudge. 

* * *

><p>Brienne rushed through the locker's depth hurriedly, throwing its contents into her bag. Jaime was waiting for her at the gates. Today he was giving her a ride again, and even promised to pick her up at the Holy Goodness Church after she's done!<p>

She was so busy with her thoughts and things that it took her a while to notice a junior who was watching her from around the corner. She had hard time remembering who he was. At some point, however, the locker door hit her injured elbow and the fight with Gregor Clegane flared vividly in her memory. Of course! Podrick Payne. The shy boy she stood up for. He returned her lost pen to her through Sansa later.

Brienne reacted the same was as yesterday, with Jaime. She pretended she didn't notice the tail, zipped up her backpack and walked along the corridor. Podrick pressed himself against the wall; Tarth almost passed him when she turned abruptly in his direction. She didn't even need to grab him by the collar like she did with Jaime. Her stare was enough to render the poor boy unmovable.

'Are you following me?' she asked sternly.

'I... n-no... I am not...' He blinked furiously, looking at his boots, and blushed.

'Every day I get the attention of some maniac. What a stroke of luck,' Brienne thought. She already regretted scaring the boy.

'Don't be afraid. I'm not Gregor Clegane. I won't hurt you.' She put her hand on his shoulder, hoping to calm him down.

'Thank you for this. I mean, not for this. For... well, for this, too. But also for your help. Against Clegane.'

'Don't mention it. I only did what I should.' Brienne waved his thanks away, though deep inside she was pleased. 'Were you stalking me to say thanks?'

'Yes. I mean no.' Pod started mumbling again and his cheeks turned even redder, impossible as it was. 'I mean yes. But not only this. Here...' He offered Brienne a 'Twix' candy he was hiding in his pocket.

'What is this?' Brienne asked, astonished, despite the fact the answer was obvious.

'For you. A candy. Well, not a candy. Two candies. A 'Twix'.'

'Thank you. It's so... nice of you,' Brienne said, remembering Sansa's favorite word. What is she supposed to do now? 'Let's eat it together!'

'No!' Her suggestion scared Pod so much the boy unglued his gaze from his boots and looked up at her. 'This is for you!'

The boy slid from between the wall and Brienne and ran away. Apparently he got really worried she'd force his share of 'Twix' on him. 

* * *

><p>The red Peugeot pulled over on the street next to the one where the Holy Goodness Church stood. For some reason Brienne didn't want anybody to see her and Jaime together. People will start talking. Everybody will think they are going out, while in fact...<p>

Well, in fact she didn't know what exactly was happening between them. Frankly, she wasn't an expert on what was supposed to happen when two people were dating; but she strongly suspected that 'going out' looked pretty much like what she and Jaime were doing these days.

Whatever. They are constantly seen together at school; that's already too much. Maybe Jaime doesn't even think of dating her. It may be one of his evil pranks. And even if it isn't, it still might not work. The less people know about it, the easier will be the retreat if something goes wrong!

'I'd prefer to drop you at the Church entrance,' Jaime told her again.

He looked so funny with the black eye she gave him yesterday! In the morning, when he was picking her up, he asked her for some tonal cream to mask the bruise. Brienne laughed when she was dabbing the cream in, while the boy looked at her with strange affection.

'No, I'm fine,' Brienne shook her head.

'Are you afraid the nuns and your hypocrite friends will accuse you of adultery?' Jaime challenged her.

The girl blushed and got out of the car without saying goodbye, slamming the door loudly.

'You're welcome, Brie!' Jaime called after her archly. He waved his hand and the car went away.

She knew Jaime would have to go to the end of the block and then back because of the long metal fence recently erected along the double line. Most likely the boy will signal and wave to her again when passing by on the other side of the street. For some reason this thought made Brienne's lips form a stupid wide smile. The smile seemed especially ridiculous when she saw Gregor Clegane's gang coming her way, their leader first. They were talking loudly, sprouting obscenities and making very little sense, though it never hindered their booming laughter. Brienne secretly hoped they would pass without noticing her. But when she lined up with Clegane, the hope withered.

'Oh, look! Gorilla female!' Gregor guffawed, blocking her way.

'Why do you think it's a female? Maybe it's a he-gorilla!' Raff the Sweetling supplied. 'You cannot tell by the clothes, and we never got under them!'

Brienne, indeed, was dressed in a pair of old wide jeans, male T-shirt and a jacket. Cooking for homeless in Holy Goodness Church was not exactly the right place to wear the nice clothes Sansa and her bought together. Brienne didn't want the pretty things to get dirty or battered.

'Female I say!' Gregor favored Raff the Sweetling with a smack on the back of his head. 'Only female gorilla would stood up for a weakling!'

The whole gang, Chiswick, Polliver, Dancen and Tickler included, roared with laughter.

'Did you watch too much National Geographic lately?' Brienne retorted, but they ignored her.

'Look at those lips, at those eyes! Gorilla with a makeup! I bet she wanted to get herself pretty for you, Greg!' Dancen winked. The boys laughed again, surrounding Brienne.

'Let's find out what she hides under those rugs,' the Tickler suggested, taking a clasp knife out of his pocket. 'We can shred them, too!'

'Get off me bugger!' Brienne bellowed at him. She knocked the knife out of his hand with her foot and then threw a haymaker at him to add to the bargain.

'You bitch!' the Tickler roared, blood sputtering from his broken lip.

Polliver grabbed her elbows and yanked them back. Brienne answered by hitting him squarely in the nose by the back of her head with all her strength. Something cracked; she heard a shout and a gurgle. Polliver let go off her arms.

Tarth's next move was to make the handsome face of Ruff the Sweetling slightly uglier, but Gregor Clegane jumped at her, hitting her in the chest with his shoulder and slamming a fist into her belly. The girl wailed in pain and hit the sidewalk.

Polliver wasted no time before kicking her in the back. Raff the Sweetling added a kick in the belly. Brienne barely managed to block it by bending her knees.

Brakes squealed on the other side of the street. Brienne caught a glimpse of the red Peugeot pulling over madly with a corner of her eye.

'No-o-o!' she gasped, dismayed.

Not Jaime! He doesn't have a chance against them! He'll just get in trouble himself!

'No, eh? I think yes!' Clegane misinterpreted her meaning and gave Brienne a kick so strong it sent her skidding along the sidewalk. Blinded by the pain, Tarth was sure the feet bones were now a mash.

Lannister darted out of the car, leapt over the metal fence lining the double line, and took a running jump at Clegane, taking him off his feet. Possibly he also managed to punch him in the guts, but then Jaime was dragged away by Chiswick and Dancen. Raff the Sweetling jabbed him immediately, while Gregor, getting to his feet, returned the punch in the guts.

Lannister wheezed and coughed, but still managed to jump and slam Clegane in the chest with both his feet. Then he fell onto Chiswick and Dancen who were still holding his shoulders from both sides, and they all heaped on the floor.

Polliver darted to help, but Brienne grabbed his legs, sending him down. She jerked forward, getting closer to his face, and added some new bruises to it.

Raff the Sweetling yanked her up by the shoulders, but she elbowed him in the ribs. The next thing she knew was a blow in her head from the Tickler.

Chiswick and Dancen mobbed Jaime. Clegane was getting up, eyeing both Lannister and Tarth, trying to decide whom to attack first.

A police car pulled over next to them, with its lights off and its siren silent. Nobody paid it any mind until four policemen rushed out.

Apparenly someone who was driving by called the police. Polliver, Dancen and Jaime got separated with almost no fuss except for a couple of shouts and punches. Raff the Sweetling dropped Brienne and tried to escape, but was caught and bound by two policemen. The Tickler jerked his hands up at once, meanwhile kicking his knife away before anyone could see the blade. Only Gregor Clegane had the wits to fight a policeman. When two of them ran after Raff the Sweetling, he decided the other two will make an easy shot. He could even be right, but another police car braked next to them this every moment, and Clegane had to face six policemen instead of two. He was put down and handcuffed. 

* * *

><p>A slim grey-eyed dark-haired youth did the questioning and filled the papers for all the fighters. Then they were taken to the cells (Brienne and Jaime into one, Clegane and his gang into another) and told they were to stay there until their parents come for them. The Head of the police station went around the cells and signed all the paperwork. The man was lean and fit, his eyes blue-grey, his features sharp. He looked a little bit like the boy who filed them in.<p>

Jaime and Brienne huddled together on the narrow wood bench screwed to the floor. The bench at the opposite wall was taken by a muttering bum bent almost twice over and a drugged-looking cross-eyed boy with his head tilted on one side and his hands trembling. On the floor under it there was some drunk, snoring loudly.

'Whaf a company,' Jaime whispered with a slight lisp because of the broken lip. Brienne sighed her agreement. 'But sfill, itf beffer than arounf fhe corner.'

They couldn't see the cell occupied by Clegane thugs, but they could hear it very well. Soon a broad-shouldered stern-looking policeman walked there and told them, very explicitely, what will happen if they do not shut up, sparing the whole station their endless obscene rant.

Then Jaime and Brienne's cell was approached by the young boy who did the paperwork.

'Are you Brienne Tarth?' he asked, as if the form he was holding in his hands was somehow untrustworthy.

'Yes,' she replied tentatively and felt Jaime's hand give hers a squeeze.

'Friend of Sansa Stark?'

That was unexpected. And suspicious. But Brienne still answered.

'Yes,' she replied.

The yound policeman nodded and went away. He came back in half an hour and opened the door.

'Brienne Tarth, you're free to go,' he said.

'But... how... my parents are here already?'

'No. And they won't be. You're a victim and we cannot detain you any further.'

'Yes, but...' Brienne got up uncertainly. Her feet sent a spasm of pain through her body. At least they were not broken like she thought when she got hit. She approached the door but didn't make any move to leave.

'I'm a victim, foo!' Jaime Lannister objected, getting to her side. 'Here, look!' he gestured at his broken lip, bruises on his bare arms and even the black eye from yesterday.

'You're still under investigation,' the young policeman frowned.

'But Jaime stood up for me!' Brienne said indignantly. 'It's not his fault Clegane and his gang started the fight! It was they who mobbed him!'

'The guys over there,' the policeman made a short nod in the direction of Clegane's cell, 'say the opposite.'

'Why do you let me go, then?' Brienne pressed. 'Jaime and I were together! I won't go anywhere without him!'

Lannister shot her a surprised glance, gave her a sharp tug by the hand and mimicked: 'Stop this nonsense!'. But Tarth didn't give two craps about his noble gesture. This was not fair, and she would have none of it!

The young policeman sniffed irritably, stepped into the cell, grabbed Brienne by the other hand and dragged her out.

'Why-why,' he whispered vehemently. 'Because Sansa is my sister, that's why. And you're her friend. I lost half an hour trying to talk Uncle Benjen out of calling your parents and filing a record, and you now want to ruin all my efforts!'

It was so unexpected Brienne forgot to resist. She only felt her fingers slid out of Jaime's weakened hand.

The bum stopped muttering for a moment and whistled. The drugged boy tilted his head to the opposite side, giving the girl a short, almost senseless glance in the process. The drunk just kept snoring.

'Can I stay here until Jaime is let out?' she asked dolefully while the young policeman barred the door again.

'Okay, stay,' he sighed, then gave her a long calculating stare. 'Wait here.'

In a couple of minutes he came back with a small chair in one hand and some coffee in a paper cup in the other.

'Here. Take a seat, take a sip. I'd get you a cupcake, but the buffet is across the road, and I'm on duty and cannot go anywhere. If anybody asks you what are you doing here, tell them you have a permission from Benjen Stark and send them to me. I'm Jon Snow.'

'Thanks a lot!' Brienne said, astonished.

Of course! She should have guessed! Sansa's half-brother. She only just made peace with him! She told Brienne his name was Jon, and he was a policeman.

'Don't mention it,' The dark-haired boy averted his grey eyes, slighly embarrased. 'If you need me, I'm behind that door.'

Tarth placed the chair right against the bars, Jaime moved to the corner of his bench, and, once again, they sat very close to each other.

'I never knew you were so well-connected, Brienne,' Lannister smirked. 'If my father finds out some Tarth girl was let go without a record and earlier than his son, he'll gall all over!'

The girl decided to let 'some Tarth girl' slip and offered the boy some coffee. The paper cup didn't fit between the bars, so Brienne had to tilt it and wait while Jaime was drinking it, his brow and cheeks against the rusty steel.

'Great, Brie!' he exclaimed when he finished half of the cup. The other half was, apparently, left for her. 'If I ever get to jail again, I hope you'll keep me company!'

'Shush!' Tarth said nervously, wondering if this was a threat or a compliment. Her stomach gurgled, interrupting her thoughts.

'I wouldn't turn down a cupcake, that's for sure,' Jaime agreed with Brienne's belly.

The girl's fingers brushed against the 'Twix' in the pocket of her jacket. Is it very bad to share with someone the candy given to her by another? But it would be so stupid to go hungry... 

* * *

><p>'This is outrageous! You had no right to retain Jaime Lannister without a sufficient reason!' Jaime's uncle Kevan Lannister repeated again. Jaime's father, Tywin, was just standing there silent but intimidating nevertheless. Captain Benjen Stark answered all their questions with cool courtesy, pointing out that the words of Clegane and his gang gave him a sufficient enough reason.<p>

The door to the room where the conversation was taking place stood open. Brienne and Jaime could hear everything and see almost everything.

Tywin Lannister hold up a hand, putting the conversation to an end, and then went directly towards the cell where Clegane sat along with this thugs. Mr Lannister moved in wide, sure strides; when he passed by the cell occupied by his son, he shot him a short glance, but never deigned to look at the girl.

In a couple of minutes Gregor and his buddies changed their words, and Jaime, along with Brienne, was listed as a victim.

'Let Gregor Clegane go, too, in about two hours,' Tywin Lannister commanded. 'I'll sign the papers.'

'It should be his father signing the papers and taking him out,' Captain Stark objected.

'His father works for me, and I'm not letting him leave earlier to waste the time at police stations,' Jaime's father replied coldly.

'You'd better do what he says,' Kevan Lannister suggested.

Benjen Stark gritted his teeth, but allowed the Lannister to sign all the papers. When Jon Snow let Jaime out of the cell, the father looked at the son with visible disapproval.

'Was it worth it to maim yourself so for that scarecrow?' he spat with contempt though he never looked at Brienne.

'Father! Brienne is not a scarecrow, and she's my friend!' Jaime retorted.

'We'll talk at home,' Tywin Lannister cut off. 'You shamed me enough already, at here.'

When Lannisters left, Brienne thought she would cry. But Jon Snow approached her and put his hand on her shoulder.

'Don't mind them,' he said. 'Almost all rich people are like that. Full of arrogance and disdain. They sooner strangle themselves than mingle with people of lower rank. Do you live far from here?'

Brienne told him her father's address. Jon smiled.

'Can you wait for half an hour? I'll be off soon. I'll give you a ride, if you don't mind coming home in a police car.' 

* * *

><p>At home, Brienne took a shower. Her father helped her clean her wounds and pulled an icepack out of the freezer.<p>

'Oh, kiddo,' he sighed. 'Who did you take after I wonder? Not a single day without a fight! You should have been born a boy.'

'I wouldn't mind, Dad. But, unfortunately, nobody asked me.'

Brienne climbed the stairs, got to her room and called Sansa. The Stark girl was horrified when she heard about the incident. She even offered to come visit Brienne and bring some painkillers if nesessary. But Tarth assured her she had everything she needed, and the flow of conversation turned towards boys.

Sansa was sure Jaime stood up for Brienne because he liked her. Tarth was arguing it was a general gesture that any decent person would make, and it cannot be counted as a sign of affection. Then they discussed Jon Snow whose kindness and helpfulness were highly praised. Brienne told her friend the words Jon said to her after Tywin Lannister took Jaime home. Sansa sounded upset at the news.

'Mother and I always treated Jon very poorly,' she said. 'He had no reason to love me, nothing to like me for. However, when I tried to be nicer to him, he instantly stepped in and forgot all bad things I did to him, as if they never happened. He is so awesome! I hope Mom will understand it one day. '

Brienne was doubtful moms are capable of understanding anything except their own misfortunes but she said nothing. After a pause she tentatively asked Sansa about Sandor Clegane.

'I don't understand what he wants from me!' the younger girl said. 'He kissed me when I came to visit him...'

'Kissed you?' Brienne jumped, the icepack sliding down her leg. When Sansa told her about the visit, she chose to omit this little detail.

'Well, yes,' Sansa confirmed reluctuntly.

'How was it?' Brienne asked, suddenly curious.

'Um. I was laying on his bed, and he turned to me and kissed me... very hard, like... like in a movie. Very passionate. And... um. It was cool.'

'I see,' Brienne said though she couldn't quite form a picture in her head. 'Did you like it?'

'Yes,' Sansa replied after giving it some thought.

'Would you want him to do it again?'

The pause was longer this time.

'Yes,' Sansa finally admitted. 'But first I thought I shouldn't let him, I wanted him to correct his ways, to start studying... maybe even to get back into football. And now he treats me as if that kiss was a mistake. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think.'

Brienne knew that was the moment for her to say something helpful, to support Sansa somehow, but she couldn't find the words. What a bad friend she was making!

'I hope you two will figure it out,' she managed.

'I don't know,' Sansa sighed. 'Sandor seemed to be jealous of Dontos, but then I went to Hollard's table and Sandor did nothing. I don't get him. If he likes me and he wants to ask me out, I'd expect him to spend more time with me, to pay me more attention.'

'Why do you want him to ask you out?' Brienne always wanted to know the answer to this question.

'I feel safe with him,' Sansa said quietly. 'And he is a good person. I believe he really needs somebody who'd care about him. Someone close. A soulmate.'

It was a weird answer. Brienne always believed girls choose guys because they were nice, interesting, handsome, popular or had rich parents. Sansa was rather unusual for a pretty girl from a wealthy family.

The friends chatted some more, and then said goodnight. But as soon as Brienne hung up, and stretched to return the icepack back to its place on her bruised leg, the phone rang again. The number flickering on the display was unknown to her.

'Yes?' she asked cautiously.

'Brie, is that you?' asked an anxious voice on the other end. It sounded familiar.

'Yes.'

'It's Jaime Lannister. I've been trying to reach you for two hours!' he complained.

'What do you want?' Brienne asked. It wasn't very polite, but the memory of harsh words the boy's father threw at her still prickled. All the same, her heart started to beat faster.

'Brie, I wanted to say sorry. Dad had no right to say such things to you. I don't want you to think I share his opinion. You're great. Not a scarecrow at all! Your eyes are just stunning. Big and blue like... sapphires.' Jaime stopped short, so now she could only hear his uneven breath.

Brienne forced herself to answer.

'Apology accepted,' she replied coldly.

She is not going to bow like a trained dog before those haughty Lannisters! Jaime wanted to save his face - well, he'd done it. But she is not going to pretend the incident never occurred! She is not going to conveniently forget what had happened!

'Brie,' Jaime whispered. He sounded deeply hurt. What a talent! 'Listen to me please. Don't hang up. You may get me wrong, but I... Listen, I've always thought I have the world at my feet. I believed I was the best. I expected the Universe to move on my whim. I played football, I was popular, I was loved. Girls swarmed around me - I could have chosen any one I wanted. And then I got injured. My bad knee means I'll never play football again. Teachers now expect me to actually study to get high marks. It turns out I'm not a nice guy, but a jerk and a narcissistic ass. Those who wanted to be friends with me before, who bore with me when I was a star, gradually dispersed and turned their backs to me. What is worse, my father, who used to be so proud of me, so happy about my success, he now takes me for a loser. And Cersei who was my... well... she now behaves as if she's ashamed of me. We stopped to be... um, we're not that close anymore. I guess my little brother Tyrion is the only one who still treats me the same.

I always teased you and mocked you. After I got hurt I found morbid joy in it. I liked someone to be even more miserable than I was. And then... I don't know how it happened. It's just one day I had a row with my father and Cersei. That day I followed you instead of going home. I found out where you lived. And ever since, whenever I couldn't sleep, which was pretty often, I took a habit to drive to your place. I watched your windows until dawn, and then watched you, how you come out of the building, go jogging, do your chinups. I don't know why, it just made me feel better. I didn't feel that lonely. I still mocked you in school though. I apologize for that. I apologize for everything.'

Brienne listened to all this, transfixed. She never expected Jaime to say anything like that. She never expected the golden Lannister boy to have any problems whatsoever.

'Brie,' Jaime called. 'Say something.'

The girl licked her dry lips, searching for right words.

'Jaime,' she said. 'If you.. if you need someone close... a soulmate, I am willing to be one.'

'Thank you,' the boy said. She has never heard him speak with such intensity before.


	10. The price of relationships

_Author: **Akara**. Idea belongs to: **Redcandle17**. Translation: **Perelynn.**_

* * *

><p>Today Jaime chose the chair next to Brienne, and not the opposite like before. Is it because of me? She wondered. Or he just wants to keep distance from sulking Clegane? Jaime had never been afraid of Sandor though, even when the latter was in his fierce moods. And today the dudes were actually talking, exchanging japes about Jaime and Brienne's battered looks. Lannister said something about roleplaying games, while Sandor mentioned BDSM, and both of them roared with laughter. Brienne joined in, more to keep them company, as she didn't get the joke. She had some experience playing RPG, but what did they have to do with their bruises? She had no clue what BDSM stood for, either.<p>

Sansa came to the caf together with Dontos and Moon Boy. She helped herself with the lunch and then joined the boys at Renly's table, where she found herself to be the center of attention in no time. Renly's friends talked to her, she answered, everybody laughed pleasantly, the boys eyeing Sansa with interest.

She's been only sitting there for a day... Brienne's been doing it for more than a year, and remained an empty spot to everyone all this time.

Tarth realized she envied her friend. It was a very bad feeling to have, but there was nothing she could do about it.

'Yesterday Brienne was heading to the Church, and ended up at the police station,' Jaime was saying. He and Sandor were still trying to outsmart each other.

'Along with you,' Tarth added, for truth's sake. She had nothing against the guys knocking themselves out (figuratively speaking), but why do they always have to pick her as a subject for their jokes?

'Ha! If my brother was put there for long, I'd quite happily join you!' Sandor said leafing through his car magazine furiously. He was sitting with his back to Renly's table and couldn't see Sansa was there again.

The Stark girl met Brienne in the washroom in the beginning of the lunch break. She helped Tarth to powder the most prominent bruise around the ear; she gasped and shook her head, her face in her hands, at the sight of all the other bruises, grazes and scratches. It was a good thing Brienne wore jeans today, and Sansa couldn't see her swollen and blue-ish knees. She still walked with a noticeable limp, though.

Also, Sansa told her she was going to sit with Dontos Hollard again, and asked Brienne to watch Sandor's reaction to this. So now Tarth was being torn in two between chatting with Jaime and monitoring Clegane. So far Sandor's behavior followed the usual pattern, meaning he still treated his car magazine as the most captivating thing in the Universe.

But the lunch went on and on, and Sansa's seat remained empty. Clegane glanced at it more and more often. Then he lost his nerve, turned around briskly and looked at Renly's table over his shoulder. Dontos chose this very moment to put his hand around Sansa's shoulders. The girl was laughing.

Clegane turned red and gritted his teeth. He turned back sharply and clutched at his magazine. He lasted barely a minute. Then the magazine flew one way, the chair another, and Sandor darted towards Renly's table so fast Brienne and Jaime only had time to open their mouths and exchange glances.

Dontos never suspected or noticed anything, until he was grabbed from behind by the shoulders and thrown on the floor along with his chair.

'Sandor!' Sansa also got to her feet. 'What are you...'

Clegane grabbed her wrist, interrupting her.

'Let me go!' Sansa wailed.

'Noone will take you from me,' Sandor rasped to her face.

Brienne saw fear in Sansa's eyes. Her friend clearly never expected things to come to this.

'But I'm not your property.' Sansa told him in a quivering voice.

'Hey, you, freak! Leave the girl alone!' Dontos exclaimed in a voice of a hero saver from a low-budget blockbuster. He jumped on his feet and waved his fists in the air, apparently believing this to look intimidating. Sandor let go off Sansa and gave the fool a laconic punch in the face. Dontos found himself on the floor. Moon Boy gasped and threw himself at Clegane, wrapping around him like around a lamppost. Sandor shook his broad shoulders, sending the skinny youth flying and landing on the table.

The artsy folks of both genders flocked around shouting, gasping, wolf-whistling, covering their mouths with their hands and waving their arms. Loras was the only one who tried to stop Clegane already moving towards Dontos. Tyrell dodged a hook and even managed to shoulder Clegane into the chest, but then he got a punch in the guts and folded. Renly ran towards his friend, while Sandor grabbed Dontos, who was almost on his feet, and threw him back on the floor again. This time, Hollard held Clegane's elbows so tight Sandor went down, too, dropping on top of him. The boys found themselves face to face; Dontos immediately punched Sandor in the nose with his forehead. Clegane snarled and blasted him in the face with a haymaker, than sat on top of him and hit again.

Brienne and Jaime, acting absolutely independently of one another, rushed towards Renly's table and tried to drag Sandor off poor Dontos. It proved not to be an easy business though. He gripped the fool tightly, and even when the pacifiers managed to loosen this grip they immediately received a jab at some sore spot. And after yesterday's fight with another Clegane they sported enough of those.

Loras came round and ran to help Jaime and Brienne. Renly wanted to join them but Tyrell gestured his friend to stay aside, and the latter complied.

Loras might have even proved useful, but this remained an enigma, as at this moment Sansa came out of her stupor. The Stark girl rushed to help Jaime and Brienne, too, and got there before Tyrell. She dived under Brienne's arm and grabbed Sandor's shoulder.

'Let go off Dontos!' she shrieked. 'He didn't do anything wrong! Don't you dare hurt him! Don't you dare!'

'What, are you scared for his pretty face?' Sandor snarled. He was still holding Dontos, but stopped beating him. 'His is much more handsome than mine, isn't it? That's why you hang out with him, because of his looks!'

'No!' Sansa shouted. 'It's you who hangs out with me only because of my looks!'

'It's not true,' said Sandor, taken aback.

'Yes it is! Otherwise you'd treat me differently!'

Clegane said nothing, but Brienne felt him deflating under her palms. Together with Jaime and Loras she managed to drag him off Dontos and away. Sansa hugged the fool and helped him sit down.

'My sweet kind brave Jonquil,' Hollard muttered through his broken lips.

'It's okay, it's okay, it's over,' she whispered to him. Then she untied the broad silk sash that went with her blouse and used it to dab the blood off Dontos's face.

Brienne glanced sideways at Sandor. All three of them were still holding him, though there seemed to be no need for this anymore. Clegane stood there, breathing heavily, unable to take his gaze off Sansa and Dontos, and there were tears in his eyes.

* * *

><p>The Vice Principal Baratheon was strolling around his study with his hands locked behind his back. Davos Seaworth took his usual place at the wall with the air of a silent statue. Sandor Clegane sat on a chair in the middle of the room throwing Stannis sullen and menacing looks.<p>

'What do you think you're doing? Care to explain?' the Vice Principal shouted at him, knowing these to be rhetorical questions. 'You have an awful record with this school. The only person who has worse is your own brother Gregor!' This was not, strictly speaking, true. Between the younger and elder Clegane stood the whole Gregor's gang. And to be completely honest, there were a brute or five in this school who also would make an easy fit to this rank. But, unlike them, Sandor was unpredictable. And the only person who could overcome him was his brother. 'Well, Gregor plays football, so nobody will expel him. But you had the wits to leave the team! You have the lowest marks in your year! Do you know about the decision the Headmaster Cressen took on yesterday board meeting? The one that if you do not improve your marks and do not return to the team by the end of the month you'll be expelled? Like, expelled expelled. Forever. Do you?'

Clegane shook his head.

'Well, now you do!' Stannis barked, stopping in front of the boy and leaning to look him in the eyes. But Sandor averted his gaze stubbornly. 'What are you going to do now?

The boy smirked for some reason. This gave the burn side of his face an especially unpleasant twitch.

Idiot. What is he thinking? It is known that in his age the body takes hormones for brains, but shouldn't some bit of common sense be still intact?

'What's so funny?' Stannis flared.

'She asked me the same questions,' Clegane muttered under his breath. But the Vice Principal heard it.

She. Sansa Stark, no doubt. The fight started because of her. Damn these Starks! They only bring problems. Well, Sansa has some sense, apparently, if she asks this blockhead this kind of questions... but what good does it make? Today's incident still happened.

'Why did you start the fight?' the Vice Principal asked, trying to make his voice warm, but his words still rang like steel.

'Because I am an unruly freak!' Clegane shot back defiantly.

The nerve this boy has! Well, teachers all reported so.

'Because of Sansa Stark?' Stannis asked again, pretending he didn't notice the cheek.

This time the boy said nothing. He just cringed with his brow furrowed. Clear as a day. The girl was the reason.

Stannis hated this. Whenever and wherever love affairs were involved, he was instantly and completely at sea. He was no expert at this. When he was Clegane's age he was a shy and quiet boy with pimply face (unlike his older brother Robert). Girls never noticed him, and he never had a nerve to even talk to them. Things didn't get much better when he grew up either. He never dated or courted anyone, as he was sure he would fail in both. When his parents decided it was time for him to marry, they found him Selyse. Stannis couldn't say he liked her much, but the marriage was beneficial for the family, and he didn't believe he'd stand a chance with anyone else, so he agreed without a word. He respected his wife, but his own experiences were only the ones of unrequited love, remembered from university. Of how one is supposed to court a girl or to build a successful relationship he had no idea whatsoever.

Stannis wanted nothing more than to shout, to intimidate Clegane, to suspend him from school for a couple of days and to give him detentions. But something stopped his hand.

First, this dumbhead cannot be trusted to be suspended even for several days. His marks are already so low that any absence will only make them wobblier. Second... the second reason was not that clear. Maybe it was a repercussion of the compassion the Vice Principal felt towards the younger Clegane on the football field, after his fight with his brother. Maybe it was the boy's burned face that made Stannis remember his own daughter with her whole cheek ruined by greyscale...

He shot a sidewise glance at Davos. On the board meetings, Miss R'hloor was always pushing into Stannis's hands various booklets; one of them said that the troubled teenagers should be talked to one on one, especially if their personal affairs were concerned.

'Mister Seaworth, I believe you had some unfinished business in the pool,' he said politely.

'Don't recall any,' Davos blinked, surprised. What a fool!

'Well, go there and check if everything's all right. Maybe you do now,' Stannis pushed on.

'Mister Baratheon...'

'Go, Mister Seaworth, go!'

The Vice Principal was ready to burst but Davos finally took the hint and left, closing the door behind him.

'Ahem. Sandor, if you want a girl to notice you, there are many other ways apart from fights,' Stannis started cautiously.

Clegane snorted.

Another booklet of Miss R'hllor's promised the mutual understanding would be easier to achieve if the two people took similar postures and their eyes were on the same level. Stannis took a chair and sat opposite to Clegane.

'Sandor,' he tried again. 'If you like a girl and you want to ask her out, that's not how you go about it.'

The Vice Principal was surprised at his own voice. It sounded unexpectedly warm.

The boy seemed to be equally amazed. His short glance was full of wonder mingled with distrust, but there was no sign of fierce fury in it.

Stannis prayed the boy would not ask about the right way 'to go about it'. No booklet of Melisandre's spoke anything about it.

He didn't have to worry.

'To ask her out?' Clegane repeated dumbly.

'Well, yes. You like Sansa Stark, don't you?'

The boy blinked, pursed his lips and lapsed into silence. Of course. Why should he open his heart to the Vice Principal who scolded him countless times and suspended him even more often? Stannis knew he himself wouldn't talk about his feelings even with his own brother.

He should try to do it somewhat differently.

'Do you want this girl to be your girlfriend?'

'My girlfriend?' Clegane repeated again after him.

'Was he hit on the head or what?' the Vice Principal thought irritably. And then it dawned on him. Sandor simply never actually considered asking Sansa Stark out!

'Yes, your girlfriend,' he confirmed. 'You know, a girl to date. Movies, coffee, walks in the park, or whatever you kids do these days. Kissing, hugging, holding hands...'

Stannis couldn't believe he was saying this. How many times he chased kissing couples around the school, took them in his study, scolded them, suspended them, punished them with detentions! On the board meetings he vouched for segregating lunch periods by sex! And now, of his own free will (!), he was trying to persuade this dolt Clegane to date a girl and to do all the things Stannis protested against through all these years!

'Sansa would never go out with someone like me,' the boy said, startling him. Stannis never really expected to win his confidence. 'Everything that was between us... I was just lucky. She allowed me to hang around... to touch her sometimes... to kiss her. I don't know why. Sometimes she would need me, like that idiot Joffrey had. Sometimes she pitied me, I guess. She's so bloody polite. When I kissed her she didn't say 'Take your hands off me you bugger!'. She said she was thirsty. Thirsty, damn it!'

Distrust dissapeared from Sandor's eyes, replaced with pain and secret hope. It was so weird. Never before the Vice Principal talked to students in this manner, never before he was afraid so much of not meeting somebody's expectations. And whose? Clegane's! The freak he threatened to expel so many times!

'What if you are mistaken?' the Vice Principal agrued. 'Who knows, maybe you and Sansa Stark can still be together. You should try.'

'No! Never!' the boy rasped, panicking. 'I ruined everything today anyway!'

Stannis recognised the symptoms. He was the same at this age. Maybe the real reason for his words was that when he was a teenager he had nobody to talk to about these things...

'While you're alive, there is nothing ruined that cannot be restored,' the Vice Principal said. 'You and Sansa are friends. Friends forgive each other.'

'No. It's no good. She's friends with that freak Dontos now. She finds him interesting...'

'And you? How does she find you?'

'I... me... she doesn't find me nothing. Sansa wants to chat, and I cannot, damn it! I tried but... I cannot think with her around. I can only stare at her like a dumbass. This, or snap at her. And she needs pretty words and all this fancy artsy-fartsy chatter. I cannot talk like those guys from her favorite movies! And that art she's so fond of, I don't get it! Not a tiny bloody bit!'

Stannis could barely suppress his desire to run out of the study, find Miss R'hllor and ask her for a booklet on the topic. What should he say now? What can he say now?

As if by a flick of a magic wand, there was a knock at the door. When it opened, Melisandre was standing behind it. She was, as always, dressed all in red, and had some file in her hands.

'I'm sorry to intrude..,' the young teacher said while her eyes went wider and wider at she took in the scene in front of her. 'You seem to be... ahem... deep in conversation. Sorry again, but the Headmaster asked me to give you the agreement with the 'Stark Security Agency'. Mister Cressen wants you to look at it before he signs it.'

Miss R'hllor swiftly approached Stannis and handed him the file. Then she shot a brief glance at Sandor Clegane. When she was back at the door she turned again, giving the Vice Principal an approving look.

'Um. Miss R'hllor! A second, please!' Stannis remembered himself at the last moment. If the woman leaves now he'll be left alone with Clegane's problems, as helpless before them as the Clegane before Sansa Stark.

If Melisandre managed to find common grounds with Selyse, maybe she'll be able to talk some sense into this blockhead?

Yesterday, when the Vice Principal Baratheon arrived home, he found the red woman engrossed in conversation with his wife while drinking coffee. It turned out that the last Shireen's class was cancelled, and the girl was standing at the doors of his office (Stannis was with the Headmaster at the moment) where she was found by Miss R'hllor. The battery on Shireen's cell died and she couldn't call mother. She didn't even remember the number. (Stannis always said that fancy technology will prove untrustworthy some day. In his days people knew all the important numbers by heart, and put the rest into their paper organizers.) Miss R'hllor took the girl home and somehow managed to charm Selyse, who was never famous for her ability to make friends. Moreover, she persuaded his wife to take Shireen to the dermatologist! When their daughter first got greyscale they did coutless rounds between various doctors, but none of them could either diagnose the decease properly, or prescribe any effective medication. In the end Selyse announced she'd never take her baby to any of those idiots, and stayed adamant about it ever since.

'Miss R'hllor, could you please close the door and stay here for a minute,' the Vice Principal asked, as politely as he could. Melisandre complied with no questions asked. 'This young man and I need your advice. Sandor, I hope you wouldn't mind telling Miss R'hllor some details? All you say in this study will remain secret, I promise you.'

'I, too, promise you I'll be clammed up like an oyster, Sandor!' Miss R'hllor said, putting her hand on Clegane's shoulder. The boy gave her a long calculating stare and nodded.

* * *

><p>The classes were over. Students were streaming out of the school gates. Sansa hugged herself against the cold, watching Bran and Arya running after one another on the lawn. Their breath was coming out of their mouths misty. Autumn was here, and today's October day was the first one it chose to show its icy grip on. Soon, the cold day will be followed by many more.<p>

Hullen called to warn her he'd be a bit late. Jaime offered Sansa and her siblings a ride home, but she refused. This way Jaime and Brienne will have more time to spend together.

She wished she'd think to put on something warmer. But she didn't know Hullen would be late!

Warm fabric engulfed her shoulders. She winced and looked around. It was Sandor. He came from behind and slipped his jacket over her shoulders.

Before, it would make her so happy. Before, but not now, when he has beaten Dontos. Sansa took Hollard to the nurse herself. But even after the blood was washed away and his wounds were cleaned, he looked horrible. At least, he was allowed to go home early.

'Thank you,' she said. Mother says a girl should be courteous in any situation.

Sandor gave her a shy smile and protruded a hand holding a bright hibiscus flower. He must have picked it from one of the flower baskets in the school hall.

'Here,' he said, offering the flower to her.

'What's this?' Sansa asked, making no move to accept the gift.

'What do you think it is?' Sandor shrugged. 'A flower.'

'Why?' She wanted to take the pretty thing very much, but she was still too angry at Sandor for what he did to Dontos.

'Well... because if the girl... ahem. When a girl... Anyway, you girls like this sort of things! Cards, flowers, fluffy toys... Just take it!'

Sandor finally started doing something Sansa has been expecting him to do for so long. But after what happened today this new advance only made her angrier.

'You appear to think, Sandor, that you can beat an innocent person bloody on a whim and then come and give me a flower like nothing has happened and hope that I will forget!' Sansa blurted it all in one breath. In the end she was almost shrieking.

After her speech Sandor looked like a beaten dog. Sansa even felt a prickle of pity. No. He showed no pity to Dontos.

'Sorry,' he whispered hoarsely and went away from her towards the gates. She saw him throwing the flower on the lawn.

Only when Hullen called and Sansa opened her purse to get the cell, she realized she still had Sandor's jacket around her shoulders, keeping her warm.

* * *

><p>'If I had a diary I'd call this week 'The Week of Violence'.' Brienne pulled her features into a terrible grimace and stretched her arms towards Jaime a-la Freddy Krueger. The boy laughed at the joke and turned the wheel, following the road.<p>

'On Monday I had a brawl with Clegane's gang,' Tarth continued, 'on Tuesday, a fight with you, on Wednesday - Clegane's thugs again, today we tried to stop Sandor and Dontos. I'm scared of tomorrow! The trend shows by the end of Friday I'll be beaten black and blue!'

'Both of us,' Jaime smirked. 'Remember, I only missed Monday from your weekly routine. And we're overflowing with Cleganes as the starters, mind!'

When the red Peugeot stopped at Brienne's house, the girl thanked the charming driver, took her bag and wanted to go out, but Jaime took her hand.

'Where is my payment?' he asked insolently.

'What payment?' Brienne frowned, the smile disappearing from her lips promptly. She knew Lannister couldn't be trusted. He never does anything good without some kind of repayment in mind!

'Trifles, really,' Jaime's smile was cunning. 'Just a little reward for giving you a ride three days in a row. Just a kiss.'

That made Brienne feel strange. On one hand, she expected much worse from the Lannister. On the other, she knew for sure boys never stop at kisses. They always want more, and she is not some slut, and she doesn't want people to think about her as such. And again, she is in love with Renly. Yes. Brienne tried to picture Baratheon in her mind (he, too, approached her today and told her she was very brave!), but his image was somewhat blurry and didn't stir her feelings as much as it did before. Meanwhile, Jaime, sitting so close, was quite attractive...

Lannister unbuckled his seatbelt, moved closer to her and put his right hand around her shoulders. Brienne put her bag between them, as if it was a shield to protect her. She could have jab the boy, open the door and run. But for some reason she didn't.

Jaime's fingers ran along her cheek, touched her lips. His palm moved along her jaw until it stopped at the nape of her neck. His bright green eyes were full of warmth and affection. Brienne's eyes bulged in fear.

'Don't be afraid,' he whispered.

And then pulled her closer and kissed her.

Jaime's lips were soft and tender. They touched Brienne's mouth carefully, and the girl calmed down. It's even pleasant somewhat, she decided.

After some time, when her heart stopped plummeting so madly and her breathing ability was restored, Brienne tried to respond to the kiss. She moved her lips uncertainly and tried to repeat the movement she did when kissing her father goodbye in a cheek.

Jaime seemed to be encouraged by that. He hold her tighter and pressed his lips against hers. Brienne realized she feel his tongue and winced.

'Open your lips,' Jaime whispered.

The girl complied without knowing why. She remembered the kisses in the movies, the ones she saw close-up on the big screen. She started moving her lips in the similar way. She seemed to be slightly out of tune with Jaime, but at least the sensation was more pleasant than before.

And then Brienne felt his tongue in her mouth! And he apparently was searching for hers! Well! That's enough!

She wanted to push Jaime away, but his arms were so warm, and his embrace so tight, and his lips so soft... She'll bear with him for just one more minute, and then she'll push him away...

But in a minute touching Jaime's tongue with hers didn't seem such a bad idea after all. She licked it hesitantly. Jaime inhaled deeply and pressed his mouth to hers even more enthusiastically. Brienne repeated the movement with her tongue. Then again. And again...

At some point their lips started moving together, and the girl finally got this thing about kisses. She threw her arms around Jaime's neck and pressed against him with both her mouth and her body.

His one hand was mussing her hair, another stroked her back. Brienne felt drunk. She was dizzy, her body seemed to move on its own accord, and she felt pleasant warmth spreading in her belly.

She didn't want it to stop. Ever.

* * *

><p>Sansa was already very late for lunch because of talking to Dontos at the entrance to the caf. She tried to explain the boy she must sit with Sandor today, to make sure he is not mad at her. She almost succeeded, although Drunken Jester decided she was doing it because she feared Clegane would jumped at him again.<p>

She was throwing some food on her tray hurriedly, looking at the table where her friends sat. Sandor, as always, was reading his magazine, picking pasta on his fork and gulping the food without even looking. Jaime and Brienne sit together, very close to each other, much closer than before. The boy was whispering something to the girl's ear and sometimes fed her tasty morsels from his fork.

Yesterday evening she sat fiddling with Sandor's jacket. The lining got creased a bit, because they had to cram the thing into Arya's bag to hide it from Hullen and the family. Sisters tried to persuade Bran to keep silent about the jacket, but the boy never understood why should he do something like that. Finally Arya told him she'd punch him if he blabbed about it, and this did the trick.

Mister Luwin told her to encourage Sandor when the boy makes a correct decision. But what should she do if in one day he managed to do both something good and something very bad? She was mad at him because of Dontos. She was rude to him when he tried to do a nice thing to her. But in the end it all boils down to her desire to sting him. She went to sit with Drunken Jester out of spite. If she didn't, nothing would have happened. Does it mean it's all her fault?

Sansa took her lunch and turned towards the table firmly. She put her tray next to Sandors and said hi. Clegane gave her a surprised glance, looking confused. Then he turned back to his magazine.

'Sandor, here is your jacket.' She handed him a bag with adorable puppies on it. 'Thank you for sharing it yesterday.'

'Don't mention it,' Sandor muttered and took the bag without looking at her.

The girl sat next to him, trying to think out the best way to apologize. But he spoke first.

'Sansa, you can go to Dontos. Don't worry, I won't touch your fool. You're not my property. And I'm an idiot.' He said this with his head down and his voice hoarse.

'Sandor...' She never expected this from him. She had hard time with putting her thoughts in words. 'You're not an idiot. I want to sit with you. Truly.'

'Come on. You like that fool better than me. Go. I won't blame you.' He looked up at her, his grey eyes full of bitterness and guilt. Then he turned away.

Jaime wanted to say something but Brienne covered his mouth with her hand and brought her index finger to her mouth. Words failed Sansa; she just waited for the others to start eating and avert their eyes pretending nothing was happening. Then she carefully brushed a strand of thin black hair off Sandor's face and kissed him in the good cheek. The boy winced and close his eyes shut.

'Sandor,' Sansa whispered, while her fingers smoothed his long hair. 'Sorry I didn't take your flower yesterday. And sorry I went to Dontos's table, too.'

'That's ok,' he rasped softly, his eyes still shut. 'It was my fault.'

Then he let out a deep sigh, opened his eyes, grabbed his car magazine and stuffed it into his backpack.

* * *

><p>Once out of the caf, Brienne and Jaime left for their 'Ethics and Morality' elective. Sandor, however, followed Sansa although his next class was in another wing. She realized he wanted to say something and stopped. The boy noticed a patch of peeling paint on the wall and began to pull at the peels absent-mindedly.<p>

'Sansa,' he started uncertainly. 'Would you like, um, well, if you have nothing to do anyway I mean, um, and you don't mind. Um. I thought, um, maybe you'd agree...'

'What are you talking about?' Sansa did her best not to giggle. He was so funny when shy!

'So, is this yes or no?' Sandor flared, tearing a large peel off the wall.

'But I don't know what you want of me!' Sansa shot back indignantly.

'I, um.' The boy's temper quieted at once. 'Would you like to go see a movie? Tomorrow. Evening.'

Sansa couldn't hold her laughter any longer. Sandor lowered his eyes and blushed viciously.

'Ok, I'll go,' she added hurriedly before he could think something bad and storm away hurt.

Sandor threw his arms around her in a lame hug, whispered 'Thanks!' into her ear, let her go and went to his class.

* * *

><p><em>Once again, I'll ask everybody who reads this to leave a comment, just for us to know our readers. Thank you.<em>


	11. A knockdown weekend, part I

_**A/N (Perelynn)**_

_I have two news for you, a good one and a bad one._

_The good one is the translation of the ep.11 went much faster than I expected._

_The bad one is that I'll have to stop at this one. This translating business is way too demanding, and this seems to be a good place to stop. There are plans for Akara to take over from here, and I'll definitely help her with translation of the SanSan moments of her fic. However, JaiBrie is not really my cup of tea, and neither is Ramsay Bolton._

_So, here is the last episode of Westeros High. To compensate the future silence, it comes in two chapters. Sansa and Sandor are going for a date, and both of them tell their own story._

_**A/N (Akara)** Dun-dun-dun! Episode 11 is here! Huge thanks to Perelynn who helped immensely with the writing of this one. The night of SanSan-mania was unforgettable. Looking forward to more!_

* * *

><p>Sansa already knew what blouse she'd choose. Naturally, she would gladly try on half her wardrobe to pick the best party dress. But various teen magazines were of the same mind about the first date: the outfit a girl should wear should be just slightly more festive than usual, otherwise she'd look vulgar. Oh, why are there so many rules and tricks? Sometimes a girl just wants to look gorgeous!<p>

She will be gorgeous anyway. If she manages to get one little thing right...

'O-o-ohhh..,' Sansa groaned, dismayed.

She wanted to use one of the words she often heard from Sandor when he was in his nasty moods. Or better all the words at once!

Her wonderful blue silk blouse that matched the colour of her eyes so perfectly wouldn't close at the chest!

This curse has been haunting Sansa since the beginning of autumn. Throughout the past weeks its effect was becoming more and more prominent. Most of her bras were now too small for her. Her gorgeous blouses and dresses would soon fall apart than fit her.

Lady was watching her mistress, puzzled at her sudden fury.

'_Oh, calm down_!' Sansa told herself, diving into the depths of the wardrobe. Hangers with dresses, blouses and skirts showered on the bed, floor and puzzled Lady. After an hour Sansa knew half of her outfits were now good for second hand shops only. She finally picked a V-necked blue jersey dress. It stretched nicely without a risk of falling apart or smothering her, but the V-neckline now looked much lower than before. There was nothing fancy to the dress however, and the sleeves were elbow-long. Sansa decided the overall modesty of the outfit would counterweigh the one bold detail.

* * *

><p>Sansa was a little bit late. Perhaps her makeup took longer than usual, or maybe she did spend too much time in front of the mirror before leaving. But then, she is a girl.<p>

Sandor was waiting for her on the upper floor of the 'King's Landing', pacing back and forth along the cash register. He was frowning and looked so angry that he didn't seem to notice Sansa at first and walked past her, staring at the floor.

'Sandor!' she called, pulling at the sleeve of his jacket.

He tugged his sleeve off her fingers and turned sharply, but then saw her and froze.

'Where have you been? What took you so long?' he rasped sternly.

'I... I'm only ten minutes late,' she babbled, sneaking a glance to check the time on her cell. 'And girls are supposed to be late for fifteen…'

Only now Sansa realized it was not anger she saw in Sandor's eyes. It was concern. He was worried.

'They do, do they?' he growled. 'Let's go pick a movie, then.'

Sandor grabbed her hand and dragged her to the cash register. His palm was cold and sweaty, his fingers trembling a little.

They had a choise of two shows that were the closest: 'X-Files: I Want To Believe' and 'Hellboy II: The Golden Army'. Sansa didn't know anything about the second one, but the X-Files series used to be the nightmare of her childhood. She also had her suspicions about what movie Clegane would choose.

'Sandor, I saw a teaser for the 'X-Files', and I thought it was very scary,' she said tremulously. Perhaps he'd take pity at her like he did once when they were at his place and she managed to persuade him to watch a Disney movie instead of a horror movie.

'Ha! 'X-Files' only has a couple of scary moments, and they were all stuffed into the teaser!' Sandor snorted.

Sansa was stunned.

'You mean you already saw 'The X-files?' she asked, and barely stopped herself from adding '_Who did you go with_?'

'Ha! I have better things to do than that! I just watched the pirate version on the web.'

Sansa wasn't exactly surprised. This was a totally Sandor thing to do. But it was bad and illegal besides. She contemplated lecturing him about the harm of pirating. Should she do it now or after the movie? She was still thinking about it when she noticed he was looking at her chest. His eyes were... weird, and his palm got even sweatier.

'Um... so is it 'Hellboy', then?'

With some difficulty Sandor tore his gaze off her breasts to look her in the eyes.

'Uh-huh. Hellboy is cool,' he said with a faraway look on his face. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket to get the money.

* * *

><p>Naturally, Sandor bought tickets for loveseat, but Sansa was actually glad he did. She had a secret hope the kissing row would live up to its nickname. She needs new kisses, she barely remembers their first!<p>

The auditorium was half empty. No surprise there, the premiere was weeks ago, and it was still daylight. There was only one couple in the back row apart from them, a man and a woman, and they looked much more interested in each other than in the silver screen.

However, the commercials were over, the movie has started, but Sandor made no attempt to touch her.

On the screen dad was telling the boy Hellboy a fairytale that sounded very much like 'The Lords of the Rings'. Sansa played with her purse impatiently. She knew a girl is not supposed to act first. But what if Sandor won't act either?

It seemed this outing was as important for him as it was for her though. He wore clean jeans and a T-shirt, he washed his hair (it was still slightly damp) and he smelled nice, though Sansa thought he overdid deodorant a little. And he sat with his good cheek facing her.

Sansa got even more worried when the screen showed a blond man with a white face, bark-looking skin and a naked torso, who started practicing with his spear in a neglected-looking subway station. Sandor even moved forward a little, letting out an admiring 'Wow!'. The blond warrior moved very gracefully indeed, reminding Sansa of her ballet classes at Miss Mordain's studio. But he was distracting Sandor too much!

However, during the robbery at the auction scene she had a sudden illumination. It was not she really got frightened of anything, but when the guard was killed she shrank back into her seat, and when the lights went off she cried softly and covered her eyes with her hands.

'Don't be afraid,' Sandor whispered to her ear, and he finally put his hands around her! Sansa snuggled to him gratefully with her head against his chest. She was glad her little ruse made him pay her more attention.

Sansa didn't like Hellboy much. He was crude, impolite and messy. She could totally relate to all the complaints of his girlfriend Liz! They only amused Sandor however. And he apparently liked Hellboy immensely. He laughed at his every line or action. The toothbrush in the jar full of slime made him roar with laughter. Sansa was aghast when she realized Liz's fate looked quite real for her if she decided to stay with Sandor.

When the characters came to the crime scene to investigate, and the toothfairies started attacking them, Sansa got scared for real. She looked away and buried her face into Sandor's chest, and even closed her ear with her hand to mute the awful chirring sound.

Sandor was taken aback at first, but then held her tight with both hands and started to whisper into her ear. She could feel he was torn between her and what was happening on the screen.

Then Sansa heard an explosion, the sound of something crashing and a gunshot.

'It's okay, it's okay, it's over.' Sandor whispered.

She looked up and saw Hellboy standing on the top of a broken car, and a crowd of journalists with umbrellas running towards the scene to interview him. She also felt Sandor's breath at her temple.

Sansa froze, afraid to move and spoil the moment.

Sandor already buried his nose into her hair. It felt like he was sniffing at it, just like Lady did. It tickled a little, and was very pleasant. She tilted her head a bit and was rewarded by the touch - first of his breath, and then of his lips.

At the kiss Sandor embraced her tighter. Sansa traced his arm with her palm, from the wrist up. He was so strong! His muscles went noticeably harder under her fingers, and the skin bloomed with goosebumps.

Sandor's kisses were getting harder and harder. Sansa closed her eyes. Then she felt his burnt cheek against hers. Sandor winced and let her go for a moment. Then he grabbed her chin, pinching the skin painfully. Before she could gasp in pain he already turned her head the other way, making her face bury into his shoulder, and started kissing her neck again, only on the opposite side.

Now he had his good cheek against her, and Sansa could feel the prickle of the fluffy hair along his jawline that would turn into stubble some day, just like the one adult men had.

'You are so pretty!' he breathed out hoarsely, and touched her ear with his lips and tongue.

It felt so great she had to grasp his shoulder. Joffrey never did anything like that. His kisses never sent shivers down her spine.

Sandor's harsh hand turned her face again, and Sansa felt his mouth on her lips. The sensation was very like she had the last time, only now she could make out more details. For example, Sandor's lips on the left side were rough like a crust of a burnt lemoncake. He also was so nervous that the kiss, though hard and ardent, was quite clumsy. Sansa was trying to respond but Sandor seemed to be doing just fine even without it. He was gripping her tightly, but every now and again he loosened his grip and let go off her lips to gulp some air feverishly. She put her arms around his neck, hoping to calm him down a little, but judging by his reaction this batteried him up even more instead.

Her kisses with Joffrey were quite different. He was much calmer, and cared more about the technique. Once, when they just started seeing each other, Joff invited her to his place. They watched romantic comedies and then Joff said he wanted to kiss like the movie characters did: in the mouth, with tongues. It was very embarassing, but then again, Sansa always wanted to try it, too. So Joff fast forwarded the movies to the kissing scenes, they watched and rewatched them several times, and then repeated what they saw.

Sansa comforted herself with the thought she was not the one to make the first move and decided to take the matter into her hands. She placed her fingers to the nape of Sandor's neck and squeezed, lightly, but noticeably, to make him stop moving his head wildly. When his mouth found hers again, she pressed herself closer to him, causing his lips to pause and focus on hers. Sandor seemed to like it. He held her so tight she could hardly breathe, and groaned. Now his hectic kisses were replaced by long and juicy ones.

His hands, however, were still moving madly around her body, unable to find the place to stop at. They only stilled for a couple of seconds before the kiss would deepen, to pull Sansa closer. Then Sandor would let her go, take a breath of air and start kissing her anew.

Sansa's purse dropped from her lap to the floor ages ago. The movie went on without either of them caring.

She gathered her courage and touched his lips with her tongue. Sandor didn't seem to notice. Sansa tried again. But instead of doing what Joffrey usually did, Sandor made some strange hoarse sound and pulled her on his lap.

Her face levelled with his now, so he didn't have to lean to her. But soon Clegane left her lips alone, raked her hair back with his hand and attacked her neck again. His breath was getting heavier with every kiss, and more and more often the air left his lungs along with a moan.

From the neck Sandor moved towards her shoulder, baring it almost fully as he tugged at her sleeve. Sansa wanted to rebel (Joff never did anything like that!), but her body was tingling with such a pleasant sensation she couldn't deprive herself of it, even for the sake of decency. She enmeshed her fingers into his hair, every now and again kissing him lightly in the back of his head.

At some point Sandor seized her by the thigh to pull her even closer; with her other thigh she felt something hard between his legs. Her heart skipped a beat; her stomach lurched.

She knew what it meant. She had read about it in 'The Thorn Birds'. Sansa opened her eyes and tried to recall whether she felt anything like this with Joffrey, but she couldn't.

'_This is totally natural_,' she tried to tell herself. '_It only means Sandor... oh!.. It means he... oh! oh!... How do they call it in movies? He wants me!_' The last thought made Sansa blush. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might leap out of her chest.

She was just comtemplating Brienne's words about senior boys and how they only date girls to bed them, and whether this is true or such desire does not exclude deep feelings (the phrase she read in a book somewhere), when Sandor's hand found her breast. The movement made Sansa jump in surprise; meanwhile, Sandor tugged the neckline of her dress aside and dived there with kisses.

'Sandor!' she cried indignantly, but he didn't hear. 'Sandor, stop it!' She pressed her hands against his shoulders. It took all her strength to push him away.

'Sandor, what do you think you're doing?' she hissed, keeping her voice low because people in the front rows were turning their way after her first cry, and slipped away from his lap. Then she remembered the old movies where good girls always slapped men after the latter kissed them. So Sansa slapped Sandor on his good cheek - lightly, to avoid making even more noise.

His jaw dropped and his eyes went round.

'Sansa...' he rasped.

'Don't you dare do it again!' she said sternly and crossed her arms at her chest. Sandor sat there for a minute, staring at her, and then jumped to his feet and went towards the entrance.

'Where are you going?' Sansa called after him before she could stop herself.

'Be right back,' he muttered.

On the screen the characters just opened some big iron door and ended up in the troll market. Sansa was bored. She lost track of the plotline because of all the time they missed, and there was way too much fighting and Hellboy on the screen to her liking. There was also some blond girl with the same white hair and bark-looking skin the warrior had. Sansa guessed they were related, though the girl didn't possess a single drop of his charms. Sansa sighed sadly. They must have missed a lot of wonderful scenes with the blond warrior. He might have been a bad guy, but he was awesome to look at.

The scene where Hellboy was fighting a huge troll made her wrinkle her nose and close her eyes. At the moments like this she always had a feeling it was she who was being hurt, and not the characters. Then Hellboy knocked the troll down to the floor and started beating him, making Sansa remember a nightmarish fight when Sandor was sitting on top of Dontos punching him in the face. She shivered at the memory. When the troll ended up in some mechanism and died there, Sansa felt truly sorry for him.

Sandor chose this moment to come back. He was reeking of tobacco.

'You smoke?' Sansa asked, surprised.

'Sometimes,' he grumbled.

She remembered seeing Clegane with a cigarette before. She was still dating Joff then, and she asked him if Sandor smoked. 'Not really, Joff said. 'He is a football player, he cannot smoke much.' Sansa didn't know how one could smoke but not really smoke. It's either one or the other. And Sandor was not a football player anymore. What would stop him from smoking now?

She wanted to say she didn't like this habit, to tell him there was no joy in kissing the ash tray. But then she thought she already was too hard on him. It would be too harsh to scold him further. So she just rummaged in her purse, took out some chewing gum and offered it to Sandor.

'What's this?' the boy snapped.

'You don't smell very nice.' Sansa tried to make her tone mild, but at the same time to bring the point across.

Sandor snorted, but took the gum and threw it into his mouth.

On the screen, the charming blond warrior finally made an appearance.

'You can hold me,' Sansa allowed, her tone carefully emotionless. The boy coughed and put a hand around her shoulders cautiously.

Hellboy was fighting again, this time with the Elemental the forest god. It was scary and amazing at the same time. Sansa was very worried about the baby the hero was holding. He was awfully careless. The baby was grabbed roughly by the hands, or hold with a tail, or tossed in the air. The child looked too much like little Rickon; Sansa was sure nothing bad would happen to him, but still froze every time the baby was in danger.

As for Sandor, he seemed to lose all his courage. He looked like he was afraid to move. His eyes were always on the screen, and never on her. However, when Abe and Hellboy got drunk and badged into the room where Liz was sleeping, something happened. 'Look at her,' the Red said. 'She's it, Abe. She's it. She's my whole wide... You know? I would give my life for her.'

Sandor didn't laugh, though he did it after Hellboy's every line. Instead, he squeezed Sansa's shoulder and seemed to stop breathing.

* * *

><p>It was still daylight when the movie ended. Sansa didn't really want to part with Sandor, and she didn't want to call Hullen. The boy said they can take a cab if she wanted, or they could take a bus to the neighbourhood where Starks lived. Sansa picked the second.<p>

It was her second time in the bus, and she was scared a little.

'You sure we won't get lost?' she asked anxiously. She didn't have a map with her this time! 'What if someone attacks us?'

Sandor laughed.

'Ha! I take the bus all the time! You need to be an idiot to get lost. And nobody would attack us there. And even if someone does, I'll beat them bloody. They'll be seeing my ugly mug in their nightmares for a long time to come!'

Sansa remembered how she couldn't look Sandor in the face before (and even now it took some  
>effort) and thought he didn't need to beat anybody to give them nightmares.<p>

In the bus they moved to the rear and stood next to the window, holding the handrails. Sansa was uncomfortable at first, with so many people around. Then she realized nobody cared about her at the slightest. Everyone was busy with their own thoughts and concerns and conversations.

The only thing that attracted other passengers' attention was Sandor's burned face. People shot him brief glances and averted their eyes, only to take a sneak peek later, when the boy wasn't looking, with a mix of curiosity, pity and disgust on their faces. Poor Sandor! And he has to go through this every day when he takes a bus!

At some point two young men entered the bus. They looked older than Robb to her, and very drunk. And, unlike all other passengers, they stared Sandor directly in the face, talking loudly. One of them said something along the lines of 'what does such a cutie do around such a monster?' Sandor, who seemed not to pay any attention at first, tensed and started to turn slowly towards them.

Sansa's heart plummeted in fear. She knew what was going to happen. Dismayed, she grabbed Sandor's elbow and buried her face into his chest.

'Sandor, don't,' she whispered.

Much to her surprise, he put both hands around her and stood still.

* * *

><p>'It's your turn to show the way,' Sandor said when they got off the bus. 'In this neighbourhood I know only how to find Joff's house.'<p>

It was not that Sansa often walked here either, but she had a general idea which direction to go.

It was getting dark. In half an hour twilight will yield to the dark of the night. Streetlamps were already on; lamppostes, trees, parked cars and fences cast away shades of all shapes and sizes. Sansa shivered. In horror movies all the bad things are happening exactly in the same surroundings.

'Sandor, why do you like horror movies so much?' Sansa wanted to know the answer to this question for a long time.

'Well. Um,' the boy rubbed his forehead. 'It's cool.'

'Cool?' Sansa repeated, taken aback.

'Kinda. It's like, um, when you're watching it, you're scared shitless at first, but you keep watching. Like, on purpose. To see how long you'll last. To, um, to check your willpower. That's what's cool.'

'Oh, so you don't really like looking at such things?' It was news to Sansa. Up to now she was sure it gave him strange sort of joy to look at dismembering.

'I'm not some bloody maniac,' Sandor snorted. 'It's just... it's like a test.'

'What do you need it for?'

'What do you mean, what for? I need to know my limits. I need to know how far I can push them. It's like in football: there more you practice, the better you get. And again.. what if I really end up in a situation like this, and shit my pants at the sight? No. I should be ready.'

Sansa didn't ask 'ready for what?' She remembered all too well the story about his brother burning away half his face. She also remembered all his promises to kill Gregor some day. Some things are better left unsaid. Sansa didn't want to hear it from him, neither tonight, nor whenever else.

On the other hand, it was interesting to listen to Sandor. He was not as eloquent as Dontos, that's true, but she never imagined horror movies could be watched with a purpose.

'I would also want to know my limits,' she said tentatively. 'But I'd never dare to watch something really scary alone.'

Sandor took his time to reply. Sansa even thought he didn't get her hint.

'Okay, let's watch something together,' he finally said.

'Promise me we begin with something not very awful, okay?' she said, delighted.

'Fine.'

They almost reached their destination. Sandor slowed down when they approached the gates of her house.

'Thank you for the evening,' Sansa said hoping Sandor would reply somewhere along those lines.

'Right,' he muttered. 'Sansa... you, um... I mean, in the theater, when we... when I... I mean, I just totally lose it around you!'

Sansa blinked, surprised. What was it, an apology? Or a compliment? And how should she reply?

'Um, all right,' she said, failing to find a better answer. 'See you later.'

Sandor hesitated, and then leaned towards her and kissed her lightly in the lips.

'Bye,' he said and went back towards the bus stop. But after a couple of steps he turned and waved his hand at her with a stupid grin at his face.

Sansa waved back and rang the bell at the gates, giggling softly.

* * *

><p>Once at home, the first thing Sansa did was to call Brienne and tell her all the details of the date. Well, almost all. Some of them she didn't dare to say out loud. Yesterday Brienne took half an evening describing her at length how Jaime gave her a ride and then kissed her in the car. Sansa was uncertain whether it was more delight or guilt in Brienne's voice when she told the tale. The one thing was clear though: Tarth went way too far to stop. Sansa was very happy for her friend, but envied her a little, too. Brienne and Jaime kissed for the first time on Thursday, and on Friday they looked so much like a couple already, while the things between her and Sandor were clumsy at best, and their first kiss happened ages ago. But tonight seemed to make up for it completely. Sansa could only hope the date won't remain their only one.<p>

When she got out of the shower she found Sandor left her a message on Facebook. It was unusual. He had never written to her first before.

'Hi,' the message said.

'Hi again,' Sansa wrote, and added a smile.

He took some time to reply.

'I thought you wouldn't answer.'

'I was busy and didn't see your message,' she informed him evasively.

'I see. I just wanted to tell you tonight was bloody awesome!' he wrote. 'How about doing it again at some point?' he added after a minute's pause.

'Okay.' Sansa's answer was laconic, but in fact she squealed happily and went to give Lady a hug. The dog gave out a surprised growl and, failing to understand the reason for her mistress' mood, started licking her face, just in case.


	12. A knockdown weekend, part I Bonus

_**A/N (Akara)**: Oh, this was something. Super-duper awesome something._

_Working with Perelynn as a co-author turned out to be very productive. While I, seized by sudden inspiration, scribbled furiously describing teen hormons in the action, Perelynn did the research on the sacred process of erection. Her husband was invited as a SME at male physiology, and the three of us, roaring with laughter, worked together on the kissing scene._

_The biggest commotion happened around the cock scene. Perelynn and I got enlightened about many new and interesting things._

_I was crying and pleading to let me go to bed but the only answer was more intriguing details. I was even promised a hentai movie on the topic. The movie never came though, so I sneaked into my bed while the SMEs got distracted by each other._

_In the morning everything started anew. Cocks appeared here and there and never wanted to leave us alone! To make long story short, here it is. The fruit of our endevour. And don't complaint* You asked for it._

_And yes, this time I'll write the warning the last chapter managed to avoid._

_WARNING: PG-18! TAKE THE CHILDEN AWAY FROM THE MONITORS! © gurvik_

_***A/N (Perelynn):** According to the initial plan, the couple was only to hold hands. Ha. Ha. Ha. The readers on the Russian forum would have none of it. They wanted the hawtness. So we provided._

* * *

><p>Sandor did the laundry yesterday evening, and was now looking for the iron board in the room his mother used to live in, to iron his jeans and T-shirt. Finally, the tools were found, the dust brushed off them; he set at the task. He didn't do a good job at first. He never did ironing before.<p>

When he was almost ready, and approached the mirror to brush his hair on the burned side of his face, he remembered he forgot to wash it. The clothes flew on the bed, and Sandor darted into the bathroom.

His hands were shaking. He dropped the shampoo bottle several times before he managed to squeeze enough liquid out of it.

He has a date! Bloody hell!

Sandor never went to a date and didn't think he ever would. He never thought about girls this way, as dates. Well, he did, of course, sometimes, but who would want to date _him_?

In his dreams he pictured himself getting older, making some money, going to the neighbour town Essos and buying himself a whore. That was the way the cool dudes did it in movies. Once he heard Greg saying there was a brothel in Essos called 'Braavos', where they would make your wildest dreams come true, as long as you pay enough. Greg is a bloody bastard, but he does know more about some things than Sandor.

Somehow now this idea didn't seem as great anymore. It looked stupid and disgusting. Now, when he had a date with Sansa...

If it were not for Stannis... He always thought Stannis a complete moron. Everyone did. But Mister Baratheon talked to Sandor the way his own father never did, and persuaded him it's okay for him to ask Sansa out. Well, it's not like Sandor never pictured himself in Joffrey's place. He did, countless times. But he always believed that impossible. He was sure his greatest hope was to hang around her, taking the role of the watchdog he was for Joffrey.

Sandor got out of the shower, dried himself with a towel, struggled back into his clothes which were clinging to the damp skin, seized a brush, ran to the mirror... and realized it was now even worse than before. The wet hair stuck to the head and wouldn't cover the burns. Sandor growled and rubbed the hair with the towel vehemently. Finally he tidied it up, but the thin wet strands still tended to stick together, revealing more of his ugly face.

In the end Sandor gave up. It's not like he can make himself look handsome, whatever he does. He stuffed some money and cigarettes into his pockets and left the house.

* * *

><p>He hit the upper floor of the 'King's Landing' at ten to three, and their date was to start at 3:30 PM. To kill time Sandor went for a smoke, read every bloody sign in sight, and looked through all the posters for what was on. When Sansa didn't show up at 3:30 PM, and was still absent after two more minutes, he started getting nervous.<p>

What if she doesn't come? He went cold at the thought. By the time two more minutes went by he already was bloody sure the girl said yes just to be polite, or because she didn't find a nerve to say no. And now she won't come! Greg told him she would never look at Sandor if he weren't a knight. And now he's not a bloody knight anymore! Sansa lost her interest in him.

He was pacing along the cash register, getting more and more angry. Angry at himself for believing the girl really agreed to come for a date. Mad at that moron Stannis for making him believe she would. Furious at the red woman, Melisandre, for telling him he should take the girl to movies for the first date.

'Sandor!'

Somebody pulled at his sleeve. He turned sharply, intending to punch the bastard in the face.

But it was Sansa. She was here...

She was here!

'Where have you been? What took you so long?' Sandor would gladly say something else but that was the only thing he could think about at the moment.

'I... I'm only ten minutes late,' Sansa chirped. 'And girls are supposed to be late for fifteen!'

'_What a dumbass I am_!' Sandor thought. Why didn't the red woman warn him girls were supposed to be late?

And Sansa looked so pretty...

Afraid of doing something stupid, Sandor grabbed her hand quickly and led the way to the cash register. Melisandre said the movie shouldn't be too scary, so Sandor looked up what was on the night before. He also looked through the teasers and the pirate versions of the movies that were already on the net. Of course he would never take Sansa to 'The X-files'. If she winced with fear even at the sight of the bad guys in Disney movies...

Tonight she wore a dress that was clinging to her body. The girl had tons of outfits; sometimes it seemed to him she wore something new every bloody day. But this dress made Sansa look different than usual. Especially in the chest. If she ever wore anything like this to school, and Dontos dared to look her at the cleavage, or whatever it was called, Sandor would kill him on the spot.

'Um... so, is it 'Hellboy', then?' Sansa asked, and Sandor had to take his eyes off the hollow between her little round teats. He managed it with some difficulty.

'Uh-huh. Hellboy is cool,' he muttered, and slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans to fish out the money... and to shift his hardened cock sneakily to make it more comfortable.

* * *

><p>Sandor didn't not know how Sansa would react to the tickets in the back row. But the red woman said it added to romantics. The girl didn't seem to mind, so it must have been fine.<p>

When they occupied the loveseat, Sandor realized he didn't have the faintest idea of what to do next. Melisandre didn't say anything about this, and it didn't occur to him to ask her. _Bloody idiot_. But then, he never thought this far.

_Can I touch her now_? he wondered. Or should they just watch the movie? Still not bad, he supposed.

Yes, it's better not to touch her. What if he scares her?

But he wants to touch her so badly. Damn it! What to do?

Wait a sec. This is a bloody date, right? This means he can touch her! He saw such things in movies!

What if she pushes him away? She surely will. The second time he won't get as lucky as he was the last time, back at his place.

No, he'd better not touch her.

Unbidden, the images invaded his head. Sansa on his bed, he bends to kiss her, and she is so sweet, and she doesn't resist at all, and he is on top of her...

The girl squealed and closed her eyes shut. Here you go. Even now she managed to get frightened. And nothing scary has even happened yet!

Sandor decided this was the ideal chance to put his hands around her.

So sweet. Sansa is always so sweet! It always feels like current through his body when she's so close!

When she saw the tooth fairies the girl got scared even more. Silly little thing. They are so funny! The way they eat through people is hilarious.

On the other hand... Sansa snuggled up to him so tightly he was glad at her fright. He could touch her, hold her with both hands.

So pretty. So vulnerable.

He didn't know when he started whispering to her ear. Just some trifles like the ones he used to say to his little sister when she had nightmares after their mother's death.

'It's okay, it's okay, it's over,' Sandor whispered to Sansa's ear. Her hair smelled great. So sweet. So... alluring.

It was driving him crazy.

Unable to pull away, Sandor buried his nose into Sansa's hair. And then the girl tilted her head a little bit, and her neck was suddenly so dangerously close. He inhaled deeply. The smell of her skin was stunning.

His lips pressed to her on their own accord, and it was so sweet that Sandor squeezed the girl tightly and shivered.

Yes. Hold her. Never let her go.

Sansa's palm moved along his arm, from the wrist up. A wave of heat went through him, followed by more shivers. His muscles went numb for a second.

Her every touch burned him; but this one rendered him wild. He only felt like this during matches, when the air left his lungs in laborious gasps, blood plummeted in his temples, and his body lived it's own separate life, led by instincts.

He almost lost touch with reality. The only thing he cared about now was the her smell and his lips on her skin.

He felt his ruined cheek to rub against her soft one. Damn!

For a moment, he recoiled. No. He won't let his burns stand between him and Sansa.

He turned the girl's face to the other side and attacked her skin again with his lips.

So sweet! So impossible!

And she is not resisting! Not resisting at all! She's his, and his alone! At least for now.

'You're so pretty,' Sandor breathed out, much to his own surprise. He always thought her pretty, but it was an idiotic thing to say out loud. There are no words to describe her.

Baffled, he touched her ear with his lips and tongue, as if it could change the words he just said.

Sansa's fingers squeezed his shoulder. It blinded him, almost the same way as it did when she was in his bed, so attractive, so close...

He touched her soft cheek with his hand, turned her towards him and covered her sweet little mouth with his lips. It was just like back then, in his room. It was just like the countless times before and after, in his dreams.

She didn't resist. She didn't!

Sandor pressed himself to her lips, again, and again, and again. He felt dizzy. He was short of breath. He was shivering like in fever.

He was getting more and more aroused. He already recognized the sensation that seized him. The felt the same when watching porn with Joff, or looking at the pics in magazines. When dreaming of Sansa the following night and waking up hard as stone or even worse.

He felt her arms around his neck and lost track of reality. She is sweet, sweet, sweet... and his. All his.

Sansa's hands found their way to the nape of his neck. When Sandor leaned to kiss her again, she held him firmly and pressed her lips to his.

Sandor groaned as the new wave of excitement rushed through his body. It was even more arousing than everything he'd done with her so far. He wanted to do it again and again.

Sansa's body was all so... tempting. He wanted to explore it. All of it. At once. Suddenly two hands were not enough, and his thoughts were a tight tangle, and he couldn't choose where to start, where to linger.

Sandor was already picturing how he would lower her down on the loveseat and get on top of her. In his dreams she wore no clothes, and he was touching her everywhere: her teats, her belly, between her legs. The girls in porn movies always moaned when touched there.

Then he felt her tongue on his lips. It was... he had no words for it.

Sandor growled and pulled Sansa on his lap. She was so close! So close!

He wanted to explore her body further, so he left her lips and attacked her neck, moving lower and lower. He pulled the dress roughly off her shoulder, revealing more of the fragrant skin. He could feel Sansa's fingers in his hair, her lips at the back of his head.

He was having hard time sitting straight. His cock was hard and throbbing, his jeans too tight. Sandor fidgeted, grabbed the girl by the thigh and pulled her closer. There was a moment of relief, but the next second he wanted to do it again, and press against her even tighter.

His lips levelled with her teats, so supple, so round. He stopped for a moment to pull away the dress and bury his face into her cleavage.

He heard Sansa peep something. He didn't pay any mind.

But the girl's palms were now against his shoulders, hindering him. Sandor wanted to pull her closer, to push the annoying obstacle away.

'Sandor, what do you think you're doing?' she exclaimed, and then slipped away from his lap swiftly before he could stop her.

'_What the hell?_' he thought and made a move to pull the girl back and get back to what they were doing.

There was a sudden sting at his good cheek. It took him a moment to understand the girl had slapped him.

What the bloody hell is this, he wanted to ask her.

'Sansa...', he managed.

'Don't you dare do it again!' The girl was frowning, her blue eyes narrowed in fury. She sat away from him and folded her arms.

What's the matter? What's wrong? Everything was fine, and she liked it!

Or maybe she didn't? Didn't like what he did with her? Didn't like him? Why did she let him do it then?

His head was heavy like after the sixpack of beer. It felt like it was ready to burst.

She didn't like it. He's an idiot! Bloody stupid dumbass!

He had one chance of a thousand when Sansa agreed to go for a movie with him, and he ruined everything!

Now she won't let him to touch her again! She'll never let him near!

Sandor wanted to hit his head against the wall. He jumped on his feet instead.

'Where are you going?' Sansa asked.

'Be right back,' he muttered and darted away from her.

* * *

><p>Sandor stormed out of the auditorium, looked around for the WC sign, headed towards the washrom, flew into the booth, and unzipped his jeans with his trembling fingers.<p>

In a couple of minutes he reappeared, leaned against the sink, looked up at his reflection and had an irrestistable urge to punch himself in the face. This disgusting ugly face!

Sansa... so pretty. She's like from another world. Another reality. By the wildest stroke of luck she let him near... And he... he...

A beast. A filthy dim-witted beast! With a cock for brains!

Sandor fished a box of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pockets of his jeans. His eyes wandered towards the «No Smoking» sign. Bugger that! Bugger the bloody rules!

In two steps he was at the window. He turned the handle. The plastic frame was designed in such a way it never opened fully, but the small gap was enough. Sandor lit the cigarette and took a puff. He turned towards cigarettes more and more often since he quit the team. He knew smoking was cool. Before, however, as soon as he had a smoke his breath was heavier the next practice, and his heart beating differently, in an unpleasant way. But he's not a football player anymore. Not a knight. He is free to smoke if he wants to. He is free to do a lot of things.

_But not the thing you just did, you stupid dumbass. Use your common sense!_The red woman told him girls were to be courted, treated with flowers and pretty words. Instead of this he... fuck.

Sandor gave a wall a kick with all this strength, leaving a black print of the sneaker sole on the tiles.

What is he supposed to do now? Sansa let him near... sweet, fragrant, impossible Sansa. She won't do it again.

Such girls are not meant for the likes of him. Fair enough. What can he offer her apart from his bawdy fantasies? Sansa is so... so like a princess from a movie. And she needs someone along those lines. Prince charming, not the beast like Sandor.

The only thing was that his life was unbearable without her. Unbearable, dreary and hopeless. Full of cruelty and misery.

When Joff decided it was time to have a girlfriend, his choice was not only a pretty one, but the one matching his status, the daughter of the deputy major, his dad's friend's kid. That was the first time when Sandor found out such girls exist at all. She was so... unreal.

Sansa was always polite to Sandor. She managed to find kind words even for him. And she loved Disney movies and books about love and really believed this bloody life to be a fairytale.

Silly, silly girl! But so pretty!

A million times Sandor wanted to give that idiot Joff a smack in the face for hurting her or making her cry. He used to tell himself he'd never hurt her if she were his.

And what now? She _was_ his tonight, and he behaved like a monster. Even the slimy bugger Joff never stooped that low!

Sandor finished the cigarette and threw the fag into the window.

He walked back into the auditorium with his knees wobbling. If Sansa is still here, if she doesn't push him away, he won't dare touch her again. He'll do everything she says to stay with her.

* * *

><p>The girl was still there. Sandor let out a sigh of relief.<p>

'You smoke?' she asked.

Of course. How much stupider can he be? He must be reeking of tobacco. Sansa is so goody-goody, she'll never tolerate a smoker.

'Sometimes,' he grumbled, just to say something.

That's it. He ruined everything.

He would gladly run out of the auditorium again, to never come back this time. But this would be the most idiotic thing in the world. And the red woman said that whatever happened he should see the girl home or at least call her a cab.

Ok. He spoiled everything he could, but he'll do whatever it takes to make the rest of the date pleasant for her. Sansa deserves this, after all.

The girl chose this moment to offer him a chewing gum.

'What's this?' he rasped wearily.

'You don't smell very nice.'

Ha! Still polite, even now! Why does she always have to be so bloody courteous? Why cannot she say directly: you're a freak and you disgust me?

Sandor took the gum and threw it at his mouth absent-mindedly. If she wants him to chew a gum, he'll do it. He'll do whatever she says to make her happy and to stay with her for a little longer.

'You can hold me,' she said, and Sandor choked on his gum. First he even thought he didn't get her words correctly, but then he realized it was indeed what she said.

He extended his hand and put it around Sansa's shoulder cautiously.

Does it mean he is forgiven? Yes? Or no?

No matter. She asks, he does. Whatever it is.

Hellboy was a cool guy, Sandor always liked the sort. He liked to think they had something in common. There was a moment when Hellboy said, standing at the bed and watching Liz sleep: 'Look at her. She's it, Abe. She's it. She's my whole wide... You know? I would give my life for her.' Sandor knew he wanted to tell Sansa the same. Only he'd never dare.

* * *

><p>When they went outside, everything that had happened in the movie theater seemed a dream, both good and bad. Sandor was very surprised when Sansa agreed to go home by public transport. Once in the bus, they went to the further back and stood at the window, holding the handrails. The girl chirped about literature classes, about the teacher Mister Varys Spider who apparently was so very smart, about some masterpieces they recently discussed. Sandor didn't understand a thing, so he just nodded and pretended to be listening carefully. Once in a while he even tried to concentrate on her words, but his attention got invariably switched to the images that occupied his brain at the moment that had nothing to do with literature and everything to do with their recent kisses in the movie theater.<p>

Also his eyes kept returning to her cleavage, and he was tall enough for the view to be truly magnificent. Sometimes he felt dizzy and had to struggle with the desire to seize her and press her against the handrails.

He swore to himself he won't touch her again. He swore, damn it!

So, he took a deep breath and by some miracle got a grip on himself.

Two drunkards were staring at them, talking.

'Look! What a monster,' one was saying to another.

'Uh-huh. Makes me sick. The chick is okay though,' the other answered.

'Pretty,' the first one agreed. 'What the hell is she doing next to this freak?'

'_That's it, bastards. You're in trouble_,' he thought. Sandor was already turning towards them, picturing how he'd stuff their beer cans into their mouths along with their filthy words. Tonight was bloody ruined anyway, and if these morons think they can get away with it, they...

Sansa grabbed Sandor's by the hand and pressed herself against his chest. His body reacted immediately, as it always did when she touched him, or sometimes even when she was just standing nearby.

'Sandor, don't,' she pleaded.

It was a moot point anyway. He couldn't move, he couldn't do anything, even if for some reason he decided to disobey her request. He could only hold her, afraid of this moment to end.

* * *

><p>They were walking down the dark streets between rich houses. Sandor knew he'd never live such a house. Sansa did, though. This made the situation even more unreal.<p>

She was asking about horror movies. He was saying something in reply. He couldn't talk as nice and clear as she did. He had to hold his tongue around her, to stop himself from adding some obscenities to his words. He didn't always manage that, and even when he did his replies went out crumbled and crippled. She must think him dumb as hell.

She was still polite with him though. As always. As if nothing has happened in the movie theater. What a pretty little thing she is.

Perhaps she'll let him touch her again and kiss her? Just one kiss, no more! He wants her to know he can control himself.

Only he needs to warn her, otherwise she'd get scared again. He needs to explain he won't let the hell break loose like he did in the movie theater.

But how?

'Thank you for the evening,' Sansa said when they approached the gates of the Stark mansion.

'Right,' Sandor muttered. He was searching for words hectically. If he loses the moment, that will be the end of it. 'Sansa... you, um... I mean, in the theater, when we... when I... I mean, I just totally lose it around you!'

The girl blinked in surprise. Did she get it or no?

'Um, all right,' she said. 'See you later!'

Is it yes or no? What is he allowed to do now?

Sansa wasn't giving any hints.

To hell with it all!

Sandor gathered his courage, stooped and kissed her in the lips. Lightly. He didn't want to lose control again and do something stupid.

'Bye,' he said and walked towards the bus stop, but lasted no more than a couple of steps. Then he turned to look at Sansa again, and waved his hand at her.

She waved back. And she was smiling. Smiling! Does it mean she liked it?

* * *

><p>By the time Sandor got home his opinion on what happened tonight switched towards 'bloody awesome'. He promised himself he'd never do anything like this to Sansa again, but the mere memory of the kisses in the movie theater made him hard as steel.<p>

There was a mutter of TV in the living room. Father was sleeping on the sofa, drunk, an empty beer can at his hand. Five more were scattered on the floor. Little sister sat in the armchair, her legs tucked under her, and watched TV. Apparently Greg wasn't home, otherwise she'd hidden in her room. Sandor took a peek at the screen, making sure it was some old sitcom safe for the little one to watch, and went to his room.

He closed the door, turned the key (he always locked the door from inside and taught his little sister to do the same) and leapt on the bed. On this bed he kissed Sansa for the first time. On this bed he dreamt about her so many times.

The images whirled in his head, both of today's kisses and the events that never happened in real life...

Half an hour later Sandor came to his senses, went to the bathroom and washed his hands. He didn't want to change his clothes though. They smelled of Sansa.

He dag his laptop out of the wrappers, finding some missed candies in the process and fixing this at once. Facebook showed Sansa was online.

'Hi,' he wrote.

There was no reply. Sandor waited for five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.

Sansa always replied very quickly. And now, silence. So, she didn't forgive him? She was polite to the very end, and now she will just pretend they don't know each other?

Sandor collapsed on the bed, punched the wall and hissed in pain. What is he to do now? He is a bloody fool!

It took him a moment to realize he heard a sound of incoming message.

Sansa!

'Hi again,' she wrote.

'I thought you wouldn't reply,' Sandor confessed.

'I was busy and didn't see your message.'

Right. It happened to him, too. Why didn't he think of that?

'I see,' he replied. He turned the words in his head, trying to pick the best way to convey his feelings. 'I just wanted to tell you tonight was bloody awesome!'

And then he just typed the thought that was nudging him all this while.

'How about doing it again at some point?'

He pressed 'Send.'

Only then it hit him. What did he just do? She'll decide he's talking about touching her again!

He wanted to grab the laptop and throw it against the wall. But at this moment Sansa replied.

'Okay.'

The window of Sandor's room overlooked the brick wall of the neighbour house. Never before he appreciated just how beautiful that view really was.


End file.
